


Long Last Night

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Big Bang Challenge, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-26
Updated: 2011-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-24 23:27:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The sense of a long last night over civilization is back again. -Norman Mailer</i><br/>Two years after a terrible virus wipes out most of the world's population, McCoy tries to keep mind and body together.<br/>Modern Post-Apocalypse AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Latter Days

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my lovely beta Katers.  
> Beautiful art by Rainyrocket:  
> http://rainyrocket.livejournal.com/19426.html  
> Fantastic Mix by Liebesdammerung: http://liebesdammerung.livejournal.com/119790.html

McCoy was wrist deep in blood, suturing closed a major artery when the first drop of water hit his face, cold and unwelcome.

“Goddamnit, plug that leak!”

The second drop landed in the open wound, sending up a mist of blood. Someone echoed his yell back, the dim sound of rustling plastic and tape following. He forgot about the water and concentrated on getting the body below him stitched back together, before it bled out on his table.

It was only after the rusted heart monitor jangled out into silence that he turned his face back up to the torn ceiling, the cool dampness of the leak a relief on his overheated skin.

“I’m sorry, Doc.” Chapel, hair bedraggled, appeared at his elbow. “The entire thing went critical, water coming in from every direction. We’re going to have to move back inside.”

“We can’t stay there.” He stripped off the latex gloves, dropping them into a marked bio-hazard bin. Not that they had anywhere to properly dispose of it. It would just get mixed in with the rest of the garbage, but old habits died hard.

“We can’t move.” She repeated patiently, reviving her part of the old argument. “People know the clinic is here.”

Hands outstretched, the statue of Our Lady of Mercy held a silent vigil over their battered shelter.

“We’ll put up a sign. Big one.” Water dripped down his nose, into Chapel’s hair. Over the body of the patient he couldn’t save. “Winter’s coming on again.”

They both contemplated this, faces upturned to the statue and the rain.

“I’ll talk to Pike.” She said eventually, peeling away, fingers tugging fretfully at her hair. “He’ll find us somewhere. Maybe dredge up paint for signs and arrows.”

They spent the last of the muted daylight hauling everything into the lobby of the emergency room. The body of their patient was neatly wrapped in sheets and taken away by a sobbing woman. McCoy turned away from the scene, concentrating on preserving machinery from the rain.

After getting their bit of food, the volunteers scattered into the night making for less haunted bolt-holes. McCoy set up his pallet between the entrance doors, the better to trip up any potential thieves or catch any late night patients. Chapel made her bed in one of the private rooms, probably more comfortable, but closer to the mummifying bodies on the upper floors. On bad nights, he could hear them screaming, a rattling echo of five excruciating days. A mighty chorus of pain and death that rattled through the walls, down the pipes and elevator shafts.

The very bad nights, he heard only the silence that had come after.

That night was only bad, to block out the noisy memories he sang the Old Miss fight song. He had gotten to the fifth repeat of ‘Rebels you are the Southland pride’ when the first set of doors rattled open. A dark figure stood between the doors, menacing.

“Found you.” The shadow muttered, then slumped boneless to the floor.

“Shit.” McCoy scrambled up, picking up the stranger’s wrist and groping for a pulse. It met his fingers in thick beats. “Okay...okay.”

He got his arms under the body and lifted. No one weighed very much these days. McCoy was one of the lucky ones, trading skill for resources had kept a flow of decent food and clothing coming into the clinic. There was still muscle under his skin that allowed him to bear up other survivors, settle them on clean beds while he tried and too often failed to keep them alive.

Inside the E.R. he lit a few of Uhura’s beeswax candles. There was a generator, but no steady supply of gas. It was turned on for emergencies only to power necessary equipment. He put one fat candle in jury rigged lantern and held it over the stranger’s face. Gaunt as most though not starvation level. A cut on his head bled sluggishly with an ugly mound rising underneath it. Looked like a teenager with his long gangly limbs. A kid.

The clothes weren’t too dirty and even carried a faint aroma of soap. The hair had been recently cut in an unflattering bowl shape. Well taken care of then, possibly a part of a gang? But then he wouldn’t have come here alone. The few packs of kids that ran together kept a tight knot, protective and jittery.

The ears...well damn. Those were unusual. He brushed back the dark fall of hair to stare at them. They curved into elegant sharp points matching the whole lean vulpine look of the kid's face. Must be some kind of bizarre birth defect or something.

He treated the head wound as best he could, cleaning and suturing in the dim light. Hands were a mess too, bloody knuckles and the left ring finger definitely broken. The kid’s eyes barely fluttered as he set the finger, a single low moan as he splint and taped it. Way under then. Concussion probable, mild though. Sleep wouldn’t hurt him. To be on the safe side, he got out the soft Velcro restraints they used during surgery and lashed the kid to the bed.

He pulled over a chair and fetched one of his blankets from his pallet. Sleep tugged at him and he dozed for a few hours in the hard plastic.

“Excuse me.” A rough voice woke him up.

McCoy rubbed at his eyes, blearily finding his patient, holding up one wrist at the limit of it’s tether with a soft questioning look.

“Who are you?” He asked sharply.

“Thank you for taking care of my wounds.” Improbably thick eyebrows arched at a sharp angle away from dark eyes, thin lips compressing further into themselves.

“Nasty blow you took.” McCoy looked over the wound, deciding to let it lie for now. “Should heal okay.”

“Do not touch me!” The kid said sharply, pulling again at the restraints.

“Woah, woah. Calm down.” McCoy pressed him gently back on the bed. “I only tied you up to keep you from taking anything. Or letting any of your friends in to do the same.”

“I do not run with the gangs.” He spat. “And I am not a thief.”

“We’re all thieves now.” McCoy undid the restraints in a few quick movements. “You want something to eat?”

The kid rubbed at his wrists staring at him.

“You would go so quickly from suspicion to trust?”

“I don’t trust anyone.” McCoy shrugged loosely. “But I’m awake enough now to stop you if you try anything.”

He turned his back pointedly and headed to the nurses’ station. Chapel was already awake, warming water over a Bunsen burner. Coffee was one of their remaining luxuries. It kept well in it’s sealed containers and they’d stockpiled quite a bit of it. Water too they had in abundance straight from the tap. Someone had explained why to him once, something about redundant systems and doomsday engineering. It didn’t really matter. It meant that no one died of thirst, a small mercy in a time that seemed bereft of it.

“Who’s he?” Chapel asked, looking the kid over.

“Patient. Came in late last night.” He opened the cupboard and found a loaf of bread that wasn’t too stale yet. He sliced it and spread peanut butter over the lumpy surface. Peanut butter kept almost as well as coffee. Just looking at him made him a little sick these days. Too long with an unvaried diet.

“What’s your name?” Chapel asked as she slowly poured steaming water into the French press.

The kid didn’t answer, just moved restlessly around the space until McCoy thrust one of the thicker slices of bread into his hand.

“Sit. Eat.” He ordered.

The kid sat down and started to eat after a surreptitious sniff. “Fresh bread?”

“Fresh-ish.” Chapel sighed. “It’s half stale by the time we get our hands on it.”

“From the outskirts then?” The kid ate with surprising neatness as if he weren’t starving half to death. “Who makes it?”

“Commune of farmers.” She poured three mugs of bitter coffee and set them on the table. The kid sniffed at his then drank it with the same polite slowness. “We take turns heading out there to check on them. They send us back with what they can spare.”

“If you’ve got contacts out there, why do you stay here?” The kid eyed them both suspiciously now.

“Work still to do here.” McCoy took his first sip. The bitterness cleaned his mouth and burned down his throat.

“To the last man, we stand.” Chapel muttered McCoy’s well-worn phrase.

“Is that not a lost cause?” The kid said to Chapel, but he was looking at McCoy.

“World’s a lost cause.” He bit off. “I’m going to hit the head.”

He pushed away from the table and disappeared into the labyrinth hallways. Behind him, he could make out the rise and fall of their conversation echoing through empty rooms. He took his time in the bathroom, washing his face and brushing his teeth. Toothpaste in its environmentally unfriendly plastic tubes could keep forever. They might starve, but their teeth would be white while it happened. Razors too they had in abundance, but he was reluctant to hold the sharp edge to his face while staring at himself in a mirror. The possibilities itched at him and more often than not he let his stubble grow until Chapel nagged at him.

By the time he returned to the front rooms, the kid was gone. Chapel had tided away the breakfast plates and left a note letting him know she’d gone to find Pike.

Alone, he headed outside. The plastic tent that for nearly two years had protected them from the elements hung in sad tatters, beaten down by the hard autumnal rain. It still bore red and orange warning signs faded from their original alarming hues to sedate pastels by the weather. They’d patched it in places with garbage bags and tape until it was held together with little more then hope and McCoy's constant threats against it.

Now it would have to come down. McCoy refused to contemplate living inside the hospital on a permanent basis. If he’d had any say the clinic would never had been set up here at all, but he’d had superiors back then. A chain of command that fractured and broken down person by person until it was only him kept too busy to think let alone move the base camp.

“It will rain again soon.”

McCoy startled and turned rapidly on his feet, fists curled protectively up. The kid regarded him from the clinic’s entrance.

“Thought you’d beat it.” He said, letting his hands drop reluctantly, adrenaline pulsing through him.

“I heard you take on volunteers when they cannot offer other payment.” In the stark light of the morning sun, it became clear that the kid was no child at all. The long limbs weren’t gangly, but graceful. His musculature and strong jaw line belonged to a man in his twenties or thirties even. If you could get past the battered clothes, he resembled nothing so much as a young professor. Given his precise speech, probably some kind of scientist.

Useless to speculate, McCoy reminded himself, doesn’t matter what we were anymore. Anyway, he was already calling him kid in his head and now it was stuck there.

“Don’t need help at the moment.”

“It would take two men to take this down efficiently.” The kid tugged at the plastic which rattled. “Nurse Chapel informed to me that you would be moving soon.”

“Did she?” He thrust his hands into the pockets of his scrubs. “Big mouth on her.”

“It’s good. That you’re moving.” In an oddly delicate dancer like move, he spun in slow circles. His clothes billowed out around him, too loose. “The dead hang around this place.”

“The dead?” McCoy froze.

“Don’t you see them?” One thin hand stretched out and sketched an arc around the building. “I heard them last night in my sleep, but now I can see them. They’re everywhere. Sticky and clinging.” Making one last lazy arc, the kid came to a startled stop, eyes wide and breath coming fast. “My apologies. Whatever I have said, you should ignore it.”

Swallowing hard, McCoy struggled to reply. “Who are you?”

“No one.” Squeezed out through hard pants. “I should go...”

“Not while you’re hyperventilating.” McCoy reached for him, wincing as the kid skidded away. “Look, I won’t touch you, but you need to calm down. Take deep, even breaths.”

The kid nodded and did as he was told until his breath evened out.

“My apologies.” He said again, when he’d regained himself.

“What was that?”

“It’s nothing.”

“So you’re no one and that was nothing.” McCoy sighed. “Figures. You can help tear down the sheets. Try and keep ‘em intact where you can. Might help us winterize wherever we wind up.”

The kid only nodded and set to work. It was depressing how quickly the structure came down. With a few well placed tugs, it collapsed with an ill grace. They rolled the sheaths of plastic together, packing them tightly around the thin metal skeleton. Just as they were finishing, Chapel came back, Pike’s arm tucked around hers.

“Heya, doc.” She called out. “You could’ve waited for some help.”

“I did-” He started, but when he turned to gesture at him, the kid was gone. He frowned. “Never mind. Hi, Pike.”

“McCoy.” Pike gave him a tight smile. “I’ve got a few ideas for your relocation.”

“C’mon in then. Bet they’ll go down easier with lunch.”

Lunch was tasteless American cheese melted over the last of the bread, a can of peaches and three meager glasses of brandy. Most of the alcohol was pressed into use for sterilization and the treat warmed him up significantly. McCoy missed drinking with every cell in his body sometimes, but it was too costly. The calm near-suicidal alcoholism that had carried him through a divorce and cross country move had no use in the face of an apocalypse.

“There’s two spaces.” Pike said when they’d cleared their plates.

“Not town hall.” McCoy said firmly. “Don’t want people associating the only medical care they’ve got with the rabble you’re calling a government.”

“There is one space.” Pike amended nimbly. “The library.”

“It’s a good one, Doc.” Chapel nudged him with her elbow. “Probably help do some preservation work on slow days while we’re at it. I know people keep raiding it to find stuff to burn.”

“They’re burning books?” McCoy spluttered.

“We’ll take it.” Chapel said with a grin.


	2. Tremors

“Make some food for Cat.” Chapel pulled on her coat, ordering him about down to the last minute.

“Don’t call him that.” He glanced up from the book he was reading. “Where are you going?”

“There’s a get together at Town Hall tonight. Nothing big, but they’ve gotten enough musicians together to make a band, sort of. Anyway, it’ll be fun. Remember fun?”

“No.” He set the book down gently. “Have a good time. I’ll leave the back door unlocked for you.”

“And Cat.”

She was gone before he could yell after her, leaving a trail of perfume behind her. Department store treasure, so she must have been seeing that good for nothing thug again. He rubbed at his temples before heaving himself up. He checked the door bell rig as he did every night before locking the doors. No more sleeping in entrance ways for him. He slept in a spacious office on a real honest to God mattress though it still sat on the floor.

He headed to the kitchen. It boasted a wood-burning stove, once upon a time used for historical demonstrations and now pressed into very real service. The man with no name (though McCoy still thought of him privately as ‘the kid’ despite mounting evidence that he was most certainly nothing of the kind) had already slipped in the back door and curled up in front of the fire. He kept them in wood, scavenging through the neighboring buildings and bringing back broken bits of furniture. It seemed to ease whatever debt he felt he owed them and he’d taken to sleeping in the kitchen despite Chapel’s best attempts to coax him further into the building and into a real bed. Eventually she’d given up and put a futon smothered in blankets before the stove for him. Books found their way there in exacting piles in any number of esoteric subjects. No novels though. Fiction didn’t seem to interest him.

Maybe Cat was a fitting name, but it rubbed McCoy the wrong way. The kid had a real name and giving him the ease of a nickname wouldn’t encourage him to give it up. It was too easy to become someone new in this brave new world, to forget everything that had come before. Why look for ways to erase yourself when time was already hard at work doing it for you? Anyway, the kid didn’t look like a cat, no matter how sensuously he stretched before the banked flames. With all the meals they’d coaxed him to share with them, he had gained some weight. Without the painful gauntness, he proved to have an interesting if not exactly handsome face. The thick eyebrows moved rebelliously, contrasting with the stillness of the rest of his steady accepting expression.

“Chapel said you haven’t eaten yet.”

“I do not require anything.”

McCoy took that to mean that he hadn’t eaten, so he made extra noodles smothered in tomato sauce. No point in holding on to the canned food too long. Botulism was inevitable. As he cooked, he went over his plans for the garden in the library's courtyard. Seeds he could get. The raiders from the first few months in their stockpiling mania had overlooked certain practicalities. Seeds were doable. Hell, he’d have to check the closest supermarket. He’d bet any potatoes left behind had started to grow on their own.

“I’m not serving you on the floor.” He said without turning around and by the time he put the plates on the table, the kid was sitting quietly at the table, two glasses of water poured and settled at their places.

“Why did you not go out with Ms. Chapel?” With an elegant twist of his wrist, the kid twirled gooey strands of pasta around his fork.

“Don’t like hanging with that crowd.” McCoy replied after chewing his way carefully through the first bite. “And you know she hates it when you don’t call her Christine.”

“You do not call her Christine. I imagine ‘the crowd’ will not be overly large.”

“I’m not a fan of people.” He said dryly. “And Chapel needs to have a professional distance from me.”

One of the eyebrows rose in inquiry, but no question followed. McCoy was left with the uneasy impression that he’d given away more than he intended.

“Chess?”

“I don’t know what you get out of it.” McCoy groused. “The enjoyment of my defeat?”

“No.” The kid ate steadily. “You offer enough of a challenge. Perhaps you will be able to beat me given enough time and practice.”

“There’s something to look forward to.”

They set up on the table when they’re done eating, throwing another chair leg on the fire. It was a beautiful set. Scavenged by the kid from some posh apartment most likely though McCoy never asked. Cat had a prickly pride that bristled at the thought of theft from the dead. The smooth wooden board shone faintly in the fire light and each handsomely carved piece showed a wear from use. McCoy moved a pawn and to prolong his inevitable demise asked:

“What about you?”

“What about me?” The kid looked down at the board with sharp intent. A few strands had come loose from his ponytail, softening the severe lines of his face.

“Why didn’t you go to the party?”

“I am also not a fan of crowds.” Long fingers encircled a knight.

“That a recent development?”

The knight moved on felt feet over the board.

“I am not certain that who I was before has any bearing on the matter.” The kid said mildly.

A tired surgeon drinking his way steadily through a bottle of whiskey in an unfurnished studio came readily to mind. There wasn’t any sting to the memory anymore. That life belonged to someone else, a stranger, who didn't know how hard it could get to survive. Sure, he was still the same person at the roots of it, but he was tougher now. Or at least, he liked to think so. When he thought of the pain of his divorce, it was now through the lacquered layers of time that contained fair worse. Like watching your city, your world, die around you and being able to do nothing to stop it. Watching bombs and EMPs fly as terrified leaders pointed desperate fingers until they too succumbed. Like surviving all that and figuring out how the hell to live with it. In comparison, an acrimonious divorce? Child's play.

“No, I guess it doesn’t. Is that why you won’t tell me your name?”

“Perhaps I was famous previously and do not wish to be identified now.” The kid’s version of humor was remarkably dry, but McCoy was learning to spot it.

“Nah. You had to be a spy. Or a ninja with that way you have of disappearing.”

The kid’s barely there smile vanished.

“Check.” He said quietly.

“We’re switching to poker!”

The mood lightened again as McCoy patiently taught the kid the rules.

“Where’d you come from that no one taught you poker?”

“You would not believe me if I told you.” The kid said serenely and proceeded to beat him five hands running. He had a natural poker face.

By the time Chapel got back, McCoy’s entire stash of granola bars were in the kid’s possession and he was red in the face from laughter. Even the kid’s stoicism had cracked enough to allow the ghost of a smile to return.

“Nice to see you in such a good mood.” She grinned at both of them, setting up the kettle for tea.

“How was the dance?” McCoy asked once he’d recovered his dignity.

“Oh, it was all right.” She shrugged. “The band was sort of terrible and the food was all canned, but there were a lot of people there. Maybe forty? It was a good turn out.”

“Canned food and terrible music, sorry I missed it.” McCoy leaned back in his chair.

“It was something different. Pike made his usual speech about unity and forging together in difficult times.” The fire danced over her hair, picking up strands of bronze, still tucked into a neat updo. Her boyfriend hadn’t made it then or it’d be a mess. “There was someone who claimed they were from the National Emergency Relief Organization. Bald man with bad teeth. Pike let him talk some too. Nothing earth shattering. Kept yammering on about working together as a country, having some kind of big convention to draw people together and start a new settlement.”

Out of the corner of his eye, McCoy watched the kid’s face go grim and hard.

“How does he expect to get the word out?” Internet, radio and television had been down for months. Something disrupted every signal, breaking everyone back down to 19th century communication. The papers, before they too sank into silence, speculated that it was some kind of sustained EMP, one of the rove attacks in those last dying days. Vengeance against the innocent. “And even if he did, how would he bribe people into showing up?”

“I don’t know.” She rolled her eyes. “You want to know, you ask him. I’m just telling you what I heard. It’s not like he asked me to be on a committee or something. Anyway, Pike didn’t seem keen on the idea. Said have to stay small until we can guarantee food supplies and that’ll take time. His current count sits at about 1,100 for the city and the suburbs. That puts the survival rate at awful small, but still leaves a lot of people if you try to gather them all in one place.”

“137,500 for the United States. Globally, approximately two million working with the assumption that the survival rate remained consistent worldwide which is highly unlikely.” The kid said in a flat tone, raising an eyebrow when they both looked at him, returning his attention to his poker hand.

“Right.” McCoy shook his head. “That explains my chess defeats.”

“So few.” Chapel said quietly. “It sounds like a large number until you really think about it.”

“Try not to.” McCoy offered grimly.

“Does repression work?” The kid asked curiously.

“No.” Cards fluttered out of McCoy’s hand.

“I want to go to the farm tomorrow.” Steam started to rise from her kettle. “Would you mind, doc?”

“I would like to join you if possible. It sounds fascinating.” The kid shuffled the cards together in clean expert moves.

“Hell, let’s all go. I’ll put a sign up.” McCoy decided. “Sundays tend to be slow and hopefully everyone will be home sleeping off the party.”

“Really?” Chapel grinned. “You’ll close the clinic? Have you been replaced by a pod person?”

“Shut it.” He sniffed. “Or you can stay home.”

It would be the first time the clinic had closed its doors. McCoy got nervous just thinking on it, but he was damnably tired. He needed the break and the thought of making Chapel stay behind when she’d already voiced an interest felt wrong. The snow had prevented her from traveling last month and a flu outbreak quelled plans for the month before that.

They left early the next morning, leaving a carefully printed sign to direct all emergencies to Town Hall where someone with some first aid training was usually on hand.

Bundled up in thick coats, they picked their way down the main thoroughfare and outwards towards the suburbs. It was a twelve mile walk through the city and over a bridge and into the outskirts. They talked seldom, eyes sharp for gangs and opportunistic travelers. Most of the buildings they passed boasted broken windows and doors. Stores had their shelves stripped clean by ambitious hoarders. In some areas, whole blocks had been wiped out by the bombs leaving behind rusted shells where civilization used to be.

McCoy also kept an eye on the kid, who looked around at everything as if seeing it for the first time. It seemed unlikely given how much the kid had scavenged for them, but maybe he hadn’t come out this far or had gone in another direction. When they reached the bridge, the kid paused looking over the water. McCoy looked over his shoulder trying to see what he was staring at.

“It goes on.” He said quietly. “Despite everything.”

“Nature’s a bitch like that.”

“I do not believe nature to be vindictive.” The kid intoned without a hint of emotion anywhere in his voice, but McCoy read something there anyway. Longing, maybe.

It was too cold to linger and Chapel stamped her feet impatiently until they carried on. The bridge took them into the beginning of urban sprawl, a haphazard spilling outwards towards greener pastures. The park had been commissioned by some forward-thinking bureaucrat and it’s trees could be seen from a mile off, peeking over the horizon. In the summer, they were a comforting burst of green and even stripped of their foliage. McCoy had to resist waving back at the naked branches as they bobbed in the wind.

A large sign boasted:

“Enterprise Farms. You are Welcome. Follow the Yellow Path to the Main House. Poachers Will Be Shot on Sight.”

Yellow painted rocks dotted the area around each sign, leading off into the woods.

“They cannot welcome all and then threaten violence in the same breath.” The kid said, staring at the sign.

“Can and do.” Chapel laughed. “It’s a good warning. They want to be all inclusive, but they won’t tolerate having their hard work ripped away from them. Everyone does their fair share and gets their fair reward from it.”

“Leastways, that’s the idea.” McCoy shook his head. “Idealistic nonsense.”

“It’s worked for them so far.”

“You do not believe that people can live harmoniously with one another in such a system?” The kid asked.

“I think a lot of people are greedy lazy bastards.” McCoy kicked a rock, watching it skitter down the hard packed dirt road. “They’re just lucky none of ‘em have weaseled their way in here yet.”

“So you believe that some people are inherently evil?” The kid looked more intrigued by this then he had been about the river.

“No.” McCoy scowled. “I believe people are people. They’re flawed and a lot of them try hard, but some don’t. People are messy. Emotional. ‘Living Harmoniously’ isn’t something people are good at.”

“You’re awfully hard on the human race.” Chapel rolled her eyes. “Almost think you weren’t a member of it.”

“I know how it is because I am.” He countered.

“What you are is a cynic.” She decided.

“I like realist better.” He shoved his hands deeper in his pockets.

The kid’s lips parted as though he might ask a question when one hundred and eighty pounds of kinetic energy ran down the path straight at McCoy shouting:

“Bones!” The man leaped up and tackled McCoy to the ground.

“Get off me you idiot!” McCoy wrestled with his attacker until they were both red in the face with laughter. “Goddamnit, Jim!”

“Bones, did you bring me a present?” Jim bound to his feet and reached down to help McCoy up.

“No.” He beat the snow and muck off his coat.

“He did.” Chapel said with a laugh. “You know he did.”

“Chrissy!” Jim enveloped her in a hug. “Both of you at once? Are you finally wising up and moving out here with us?”

“No, Jim.” McCoy sighed. “Just needed a vacation.”

“Well our casa is your casa.” Jim beamed, eyes racking over the third member of their party. “Oh, Bonesy, you did bring me a present.”

The lascivious purr raised both the kid’s eyebrows. McCoy frowned, glancing over at the kid, suddenly seeing what Jim saw. The extra weight and care had taken away whatever soft hint of childhood McCoy thought he'd once seen in the kid. He was very much a man and a good looking one at that. Disturbed, he turned his attention back on Jim.

“He’s a friend. Been helping us keep the library heated the past few month. You leave him be.” McCoy warned.

“Warm, huh?” Jim stuck out his hand. “I’m Jim Kirk, CEO of Enterprise Farms.”

“CEO?” The kid asked, ignoring the proffered hand. “I was under the impression that this was a communistic compound where equality was encouraged.”

“Oh, sort of.” Jim shrugged, dropping his hand. “We figured out that everyone needs a job that caters to their skills. Turns out I’m good at being in charge. Mostly means I work longer hours for no extra privileges, but I do get a swanky title.”

“Fascinating.” The kid stared at Jim like he wanted to dissect him.

“Where’d you find him again?” Jim asked slowly.

“You just going to let us stand out here and freeze?” Chapel cut in. “What about the famed Enterprise hospitality?”

“Right! You’ll love what we’ve done to the dining area, Bones.” Turning, Jim led them further down the path. “We haven’t been able to do much outside work so everyone’s been fussing over the house.”

The Main House had started off life as the administrative offices for the park. A pretty stone pile with a small staff kitchen and enough plenty of offices to convert to serviceable bedrooms. It sat tucked into a hill and the attic proved a good lookout tower. In the small amount of time that they had been in possession of it, the Enterprise crew had brought down walls, added on a huge stable to house an eccentric collection of wildlife and enlarged the kitchen so everyone could sit down to noisy meals together.

As they approached the house, something tight unwound from McCoy’s chest. Despite himself, he rather loved the crazy place and its inhabitants. Unlike the messy tangled politics of the city bound, the Enterprise crew was making something out of the rubble that might be sustainable.

The front door flew open before Jim could reach for the knob.

“Leonard!” A beautiful red head drew him into a tight hug. “You’ve been away too long.”

“Hello Gaila.” He embraced her carefully. “How are the ribs?”

“Oh, long healed.” She chided, bussing a kiss on his cheek before turning to embrace Christine. “Come in, come in!”

The house smelled like fresh baked bread and engine grease. Even with just Jim and Gaila in evidence the house had the hum of productivity that reminded him painfully of an active hospital. Gaila led them to the kitchen and pointed them all to a knotty, wooden picnic table. It had been dragged from some distant point in the park, boasting stains from long ago barbecues.

“What’s your friend’s name?” Gaila asked as she moved dancer-like around the kitchen. It was stocked with grocery store ingredients for now. Regular parties scavenged out from the park’s centralized location. There was a plan written in Jim’s brisk messy handwriting posted on the kitchen door laying out exactly how they would wean themselves from such goods over the next five years.

“Cat.” Christine supplied with a laugh. “Or that’s what we call him anyway.”

“I like it!” She produced a loaf of fresh bread and set to slathering it with margarine and jelly before setting the pile in front of them. “Welcome to the Enterprise, Cat.”

“Cat?” Jim mouthed at Bones, who shrugged. It was better than admitting he didn’t know the kid’s name.

“Thank you.” The kid said gravely. “It is a most interesting location. How many of you live here?”

“Depends.” She frowned a little as she thought it over, slapping away Jim’s hand when he reached to cut himself a slice. “You already had lunch. Ten or so regulars. We’ve got a few locals that are here now because of the cold. Our stove keeps the whole house pretty warm, but they’ll probably-”

“Hello, lass.” A grinning man swaddled in layers of mismatched flannel bustled through the doorway. “Do you think I could get a bite?”

“You can share the med team’s snack.” She smiled and kissed him on the cheek. His skin flushed pink under her lips. Chapel smothered a laugh. “They brought someone new with them. Cat, this is Scotty.”

“Hope you don’t mind if I don’t shake your hand.” Scotty held up two black smeared palms. “I need a wash up.”

“He gets a kiss and a snack?” Jim pouted at Gaila.

“I like him better.”

“It’s the accent isn’t it?”

“What were you working on?” The kid asked quietly.

“Oh this and that.” Scotty shrugged and snagged a piece of bread, devouring it despite the transfer of grease.

“He’s being modest.” Gaila shook her head. “We’re going to have to clear a lot of space to plant this spring and even out the land. Without machinery, it could take us months, even years and we don’t have that kind of time. Scotty’s converting all the farm equipment we’ve scavenged to solar.”

“Maybe get some panels on the roof too and get some things working again.” He smiled sheepishly. “Hot baths. I miss hot baths.”

“We heat water on the stove mostly.” Chapel grimaced. “If you get those panels working, I really might have to move out here permanently.”

She was probably only joking, but McCoy winced anyway. Without Chapel, the clinic lost the veneer of a smooth running operation. He needed her light tough and smart mouth to keep the patients happy. Maybe to keep his own head above water too. Not that he'd ever tell her that. It'd go straight to her head.

“We’d love to have you Chrissy.” Gaila ducked down to kiss Chapel on the cheek.

“Are we having a party?” A slim curly haired boy insinuated himself into the kitchen which was starting to crowd. “Ah, Doctor! It is good to see you again!”

“What’re you doing in here!” Scotty scolded. “Can’t take your eye off that machine, I told you-”

“Da, da, I heard.” Chekov laughed. “It is all fine. I make it run.”

“You made it what?”

The ensuing conversation grew in volume and dueling accents. Feeling a headache coming on, McCoy slipped out the back door that connected up to the stables. A chicken clucked irritably at him.

“Yeah to you, too.”

He leaned against the side of the house, looking down the long row of stalls. The pigs eyed him amiably from the pen, apparently debating whether or not the stranger might be convinced to give them extra scraps. Most of the animals had been found on the Enterprise’s periodic sweeps with a few already breeding into the next generation. There were dozens of chickens, the pigs, three cows and several horses. If he strained, he could make out the distant boxes that housed Uhura’s hives and her slim body weaving through them.

Lost in thought, McCoy only dimly registered Cat coming to stand next to him. They stood in companionable silence, the laughter from the kitchen spilling out into the yard around them.

“Gaila informed me that there will be a party of some kind tonight.” Cat said as the sun touched the hills. “To welcome you back.”

“Yeah, they’ll take any excuse.” McCoy reached down to pet one of the passing barn cats. “Probably set something on fire, the damn heathens.”

“A bonfire was mentioned.” Cat looked down at his namesake with interest. He kneeled and the cat immediately abandoned McCoy to wrap coyly around the newcomer’s feet. “You don’t think their affection for you is genuine?”

“Oh it’s genuine. They’d love for me to move out here.” McCoy rolled his eyes at the traitorous cat. “Jim, especially. But they can fend decently for themselves. The city folk are a mess.”

“You do not think they require a doctor here?”

“Everyone needs medical help, but the only thing we got is First Aid type stuff now and they got that covered out here.”

“I believe Gaila is pregnant.” Cat said quietly. “She will doubtless require you for that.”

“Gaila? How’d you know?” McCoy hissed. “Damnit, how foolish can she be?”

“I believe breeding is a natural imperative, particularly in times of population stress.”

“She ought to know better than an imperative.” Distressed, he got to his feet. “Do you know what the death rate for a mother and child were during the 1800s? Because that’s what we’re set back too.”

“Given the current conditions, it seems doubtful that care will advance much beyond that over the next decade.” Cat spoke slowly as though reasoning with a small child. “If anything, it may degrade as supplies deplete. If everyone were to wait to procreate for a time when medical care re-advanced, the human population would die out.”

“I know the reasoning.” He scrubbed at his face. “I even know you’re right, but I feel like I’m doing my job with both hands tied behind my back. Sometimes, I wish I were some Victorian country doctor because at least then I wouldn’t know how much was missing.”

“The situation is as it is.” Stroking the cat, the younger man gazed up at him thoughtfully. “You will have to make peace with that eventually.”

“People will die because I don’t have the tools to save them.” McCoy growled. “I’m a doctor. I can’t make peace with that.”

“Your life will be very difficult then.”

“It already is, kid, it already is.”

“Bones!” Jim popped out of the door. “There you are. C’mon, we’re going to build a fire in the pit and roast dinner.”

“I am not a child.” Cat rose in one languid graceful move, dark eyes unreadable in the twilight. He spoke softly enough that only McCoy could hear him. “If you would release your notions of what was, then perhaps you will be better able to see what could be.”

“What do you-”

“Hurry up!” Jim yelled again. “We’re gonna make a fire that touches the sky tonight!”

There was an echoing chorus of excitement from the kitchen and soon, McCoy was drawn into the warm circle of the Enterprise crew. The moment was lost.

When McCoy woke it was to the smell of sun dried sheets and the gentle mummer of a farm first stirring. He lay in the early dawn light, mind blank and quiet for the first time in months. Even at full capacity, the Enterprise had many empty rooms and this one had long ago been unofficially labeled his. What few medical supplies they had stored up lined the wall opposite the bed and the cedar closet held a few sets of clothes that would fit him in a pinch. It troubled him how readily it all felt like home. Even before the world had ended, he hadn’t felt comfortable anywhere. The move to the city had been a desperate post-divorce flee and the house shared with his wife before that a cold and empty one. Yet this little room felt as cozy and welcoming as his childhood bedroom.

He stretched upwards until his back cracked, then fell limp and satisfied on the bed. The flickers of last night’s fire lingered behind his eyes. Jim had kept him close by all night, keeping his plate and cup full, including him in all manner of conversation. Even deferring to his opinion on a few occasions. It was easy to forget with all his confidence that in another world, Jim would be in his senior year of college just starting to think about what came next.

A soft knock interrupted his reverie and he scrambled upwards, pulling on a shirt and running a hand through his hair. Without the warm thick blankets, the cold air hit his skin and he shivered.

“Come in.” He barked, searching the floor for his discarded pants.

The door cracked open and Gaila peered around.

“Good morning, Leonard.” She hesitated on the threshold. “I brought you some breakfast.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” He fumbled into his pants and pulled on a bulky sweater. “I would’ve come down.”

“I know, but I wanted to talk to you.” She slid into the room, the door closing quietly behind her.

“All right.” He took the tray from her, setting it on top of the cedar chest. Dragging it towards the bed made for a reasonable make shift table for them to perch on. He took up a piece of toast to drag through brilliant yellow egg yolk as she flitted about the room. “Sit down, you’re making me nervous.”

Reluctantly, she sat on the edge of the chest, eyes casting everywhere, but him.

“I’m pregnant.” She told him in a confessional sigh. “I’m usually very regular and I missed the last two months, so I used a few different tests from our pharmacy stock. Some of them were expired, but they all said yes.”

How had the kid known? McCoy paused mid-chew, looking her over. There was nothing out of place on her slim body, no swell or mythical glow.

“How are you feeling?” He pushed his plate aside and reached for her hands, folding them into his. “Is this something you want to see through?”

“I don’t know.” The deep green of her eyes cast about his face as if there might be an answer there. “I always thought...I came to this country to be free, Leonard. So my children could grow up free. I was going to be a brilliant engineer, you know.”

“I know.”

“How?”

“You told me when you were delirious.”

“Did I?” She laughed bitterly. “I don’t recall.”

She’d been the first to break through the weakened CDC security, already in the throes of sickness. When he’d come to her bed, she’d clutched at his hand, speaking with such a broken whisper that he often had to put his ear to her mouth to make out the words. She had told him about her brief childhood, snatched away by slavers at an impossibly young age and the years of captivity that followed. In threaded breaths, she described her harrowing escape that left her scarred, but proudly free. Most importantly, she told him over and over that she could pay for the hospital visit, that she was a legal immigrant and her college covered her insurance. She had been fiercely proud of what she had earned.

Two years ago that had been and he could still hear that rising whisper, that insistent call of pride.

“You did.” He told her, not letting go of her hands. “For what it’s worth, I can’t think of a better place to raise a child right now than here.”

“That’s not saying much.” She smiled slightly. “There’s been so much death. A birth...that would be something to celebrate.”

“Have you talked to the father?” He asked and immediately regretted it as her smile disappeared.

“No. I’m not entirely sure who it is.” She scowled. “And I won’t apologize for that.”

“No lecture from me, darlin’.” He assured her. “Though you may want to keep better track in the future. All of you should. Small population could start inbreeding faster than you expect.”

“That’s your objection? Inbreeding?”

“I’ve seen too much to give a damn about a little winter bed hopping.” He patted her hand a last time before getting up to root through the cabinet. “If you want to keep it, you’ll need to eat a lot of red meat and spinach. I don’t have any iron pills to give you. I do have some folic acid that hasn’t gone bad just yet.”

“How long do I have to think about it?”

“Not much longer. I can’t...I’ll be honest, I’m not entirely sure I could perform it safely now. I have the right equipment, but it wasn’t exactly my line of work to begin with and the sterilization and power being touch and go....”

“Oh.” She looked down at her hands. “I can practically hear feminism being set back a hundred years as you speak. We don’t have much of a choice all over again.”

“We’ll come up with something.” He dredged up a comforting smile from somewhere. “Y’all are clever.”

“Not clever enough.” She stared blankly at him for a moment before blinking it away. “I look at that blackboard sometimes with that five year plan and it...it hurts, Leonard. To think how hard we’re going to have to work just to live. We had everything and now it’s so much dust. And the worst part is, we’re the lucky ones, aren’t we?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we are.”

She held out her arms like a child. He pulled her up into the tightest hug he could manage. When she started to cry, her sobs heaved against him like the breaking of waves on a beach.

“Thank you.” She pulled away in stages, wiping her eyes on a sleeve. “I needed that.”

“Here.” He passed her a clean rag from the cabinet.

As she blew her nose, someone knocked on the door and they both jumped, looking a little guilty.

“Just a minute.” He called out, letting her gather herself up before opening the door.

“Hey, doc.” Sulu shifted uneasily outside his door. “Sorry I didn’t catch you last night. Uh, listen, do you have a minute?”

“Sure, you going to be okay?” He asked her over his shoulder. Gaila nodded and pressed a finger to her lips in the universal request for silence before smiling cheerily at Sulu and heading back out into the house.

“She all right?” Sulu asked, closing the door behind him.

“She’ll be fine. Now tell me what I can do for you?”

It was an infected cut on the bottom of his left foot. By the time McCoy cleaned and wrapped it with a judicious amount of antibiotic gel, someone else was waiting outside the door. His entire morning slipped away as he recommended aspirin, cold compresses and more rest. When a sandwich arrived, he ate it with gusto while filling out a slender notebook to add to his filing system back at the library that already bulged with pilfered hospital medical records.

“Hey, Bones.” Jim popped his head around the door. “I’m doing a walk about around the fields, want to come?”

“Aren’t they half frozen over?” He set down his pen, already reaching for his coat.

“Sure, but there’s the fence to look over and maybe some small game to bag.” Jim gestured with the rifle. “Just found another ammo shop. We’re good on hunting supplies for years at this rate.”

The fields were half-frozen over and the sharp metal taste of cold lingered in the air.

“Your stray is a pretty interesting guy.” Jim started as soon as they were out of range of the house.

“He’s not mine.” Their breath gusted white in front of them.

“So why is he following you all over creation?”

“Damned if I know. Warmth, food, shelter...why does anyone do anything these days?”

“He seems to like you.” Jim offered.

“How can you tell?” He shook his head. “He’s locked down tighter than a bank vault.”

“He kept tracking you last night. Anywhere you went, he was looking at you.” The rifle went up and a cracking shot broke through the frosted quiet. “Rabbit...missed it.”

“He was not.” McCoy wrinkled his nose and yanked the rifle from Jim’s hands. “You’re a goddamn terrible shot.”

“Well not all of us were raised hunting, Bonsey.”

“Not an excuse.”

They took pot shots for a while, passing the rifle between them and taking down a few rabbits until Jim spotted a deer in the last of the afternoon sun. They went to their bellies on the cold dirt, McCoy holding the gun steady and taking long and careful aim. The deer crumbled gracelessly, bleeding out with merciful speed.

“We’ll take it back to butcher.” Jim decided, hefting the heavy body over his shoulder, the hooves knocking limply into his stomach. “It's getting dark and I don't want to make a hack job of it. The meat should last us a while. Something to break up the potato, bread and canned food monotony.”

“Jim, do you ever....” McCoy trailed off. “Never mind.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t leave me hanging. It’s a long walk back to the house anyway.”

“Do you ever get angry?” He said quickly. “At how things happened.”

“Angry?” Jim’s eyebrows knit up. “I’m angry all the time, Bones.”

“I know that, you hot head. I mean angry that you didn’t get to do whatever it was you would have done, I guess. Angry about not having the future you thought you would.”

“No.” Jim laughed. “No, I’m not angry about that. Don’t you remember how we met?”

It was unforgettable. The frozen moment when the quarantine announcement screamed through the hallways of the hospital. Before that, it had been Dr. McCoy stitching closed an ugly tear in a drunken patient’s face. As soon as the siren sounded, Jim had got down off the table still trailing blood behind him executing orders as McCoy barked them out. When the CDC rushed in, all orange hazmat suits and official equipment, Jim had held steady at McCoy’s back. They’d both fallen sick early on and shaken it off with the tenacity of men who had fought off greater demons and won. While McCoy worked desperately among the sick, Jim gathered the survivors to him in a close knot. When the last of the victims has died, McCoy had watched from the hospital doors as Jim took his band of walking wounded away. At the time, he’d been to numb to realize what a large chunk of him Jim took with him. Disaster had made them better friends than any other McCoy had ever had.

“Yeah.” He said hoarsely. “Yeah, of course I remember.”

“I was a damn mess.” Jim wrinkled his nose. “I can’t even remember who beat the shit out of me that time. Probably a stranger. Probably dead now. I was a drunk fuck up, Bones. I hate what’s happened to the world, but I’m not angry. Not for me, anyway.”

“No?”

“No.” Jim elbowed him. “What’s got you thinking about this stuff anyway? Nothing to change now, you know? Just gotta live with it or die trying.”

“Nice pep talk.”

“Oh, go to hell.”

A flurry of birds took off from barren branches their chattering calls a dark echo to the jangle of Jim’s bright laughter.


	3. Rupture

“You have to come outside!” Chapel tugged on McCoy’s wrist. “It’s beautiful today.”

“Woman, let go of me!” He snapped. “I got a pile of paperwork to file away and an inventory to do.”

“Sunshine, Doctor! Fifteen minutes a day.” She ordered and soon they were both tumbling out the front doors of the library into the brilliant light of a perfect early summer afternoon.

Cat was already leaning against the red brick, face turned up to the sun like a hungry plant. Someone had spread out a blanket weighted down with lunch.

“A conspiracy.” McCoy muttered, but sat down without further argument.

“Yes, we’re terribly mean to you.” Chapel rolled her eyes. “Honestly, left to your own devices you’d become a hermit.”

“Hermits have it easy.” He stuffed bread into his mouth.

“Actually most hermits were persecuted and most likely suffered from mental illness or disease that challenged socitey.” Cat bit primly into a canned peach.

“You’re cut off from reading the books.”

When their small meal was gone, Chapel proposed a walk.

“Sunshine and movement with talking.” She clarified. “I think that counts as social interaction.”

They put up an ‘Out to Lunch’ sign on the front doors and they started off down the block. Pike’s crew had been hard at work on roads that connected Town Hall to the burgeoning businesses and institutions of the city. Cars had slowly been dragged away, clearing the pavement for horse drawn carts and pedestrians. People had moved into the buildings on either side of the library creating a little neighborhood. They greeted a few of the new neighbors who moved with renewed purpose.

“There’s a patch of wild berries that I would like to check on.” Cat said quietly, steering them towards one of the overgrown parks.

“You’ve got caches all over, don’t you?” Chapel clamored over the fence first and landed with a girlish laugh and took off running through the woods.

“What’s she about?” McCoy scaled the fence slower. “I think the sun is going to her head.”

“I believe she has broken up with her boyfriend.” Cat dropped neatly next to him. “He was giving her some trouble.”

“No good punk is what he was.” The news made the already good day, better. “I never liked him.”

“You made that quite clear.” Cat led the way through a patch of thorny underbrush.

The street disappeared in the foliage and it was as if they were back on Enterprise, tangling in the wilds. When one bush proved to be bare , Cat pushed forward seemingly oblivious to the thorny catches of the bushes that gathered cuts on their hands and faces.

“These better some be some damn berries.” McCoy grumbled. “I’m going to be more lacerations then skin by the time we get out of here.”

“You do not have to accompany me.”

“Yeah, well.” McCoy ducked his head to hide the flush to his cheeks. “Wouldn’t want you getting eaten by a bear or something.”

“No one has reported seeing a bear in the area.”

The damnable truth was that ever since their visit to the Enterprise, McCoy had started to look at the odd man differently. Cat had told him to let go of preconceptions and McCoy found himself trying.

It turned out that Cat was all kinds of attractive. His hair kept growing a thick and glossy black despite the vitamin deprivation they all suffered. It had long ago left behind the choppy childish cut, the new length covering his strange delicate ears. Repeated exposure to the sun hadn’t set a tan on the fragile pale skin or warmed the pale complexion pink. Instead, he remained almost ethereally beautiful and strong. And of course, he was a genius. McCoy was starting to wonder if there was some bizarre correlation between plague immunity and brains. Certainly most of the members of the Enterprise had sky rocketed I.Q.’s and plenty of Pike’s people were in the abnormal range. Whatever the case, Cat was so blessed. The less McCoy treated him like a wayward child, the greater the leaps Cat took. The library had a self-contained water system now thanks to a complicated cistern and pipe system complete with some kind of wood run boiler that gave Chapel her longed for hot showers. There was even a noisy combustion engine that could run delicate salvaged medical machinery without shorts that had simply appeared one day.

“Thank you.” He had said humbly after that. Cat had only given one of his single shoulder shrugs.

“I did what was needed.”

The first stirrings of desire had taken McCoy off guard, but now they were a firm reality of want that he accepted as begrudgingly as he did most things that he could not control.

“Here.” Cat interrupted his reverie to point to a bush heavy with dark berries. “Raspberry, I believe.”

“They look right.” Frowning, he leaned into examine them, plucking one gingerly from the bush. “Smell right.”

“I identified the leaf pattern.” Cat drew out the battered paperback _Urban Plant-life_ and opened it to the right picture. “I believe these will be quite safe to ingest.”

“If I die, it’s your fault.” He popped the berry into his mouth, startled by the sharp sweet-sour taste as it flooded his mouth. “My God, man.”

“Is everything all right?”

“This...has a taste. A real natural, honest to God taste. Please tell me you've brought something to carry these in.”

Cat held up two battered plastic shopping bags and McCoy took one greedily, setting about stripping the bush all the way down to twigs.

“I was not aware you thought so highly of raspberries.” Cat forged a few feet away, fingers rapidly getting stained red.

“Never liked them before.” He licked at his own fingers. “But they’re fresh and I don’t think I remembered how good something like this can taste. The last time I had fruit like this was apples from the Enterprise last fall.”

“I’m not sure how to preserve these..”

“Jam. I bet they're books on how to make it stocked up in the library. My mother used to make it. Sterilization is key, but we have boiling water on tap thanks to you, so that’s easy enough. After that it’s just having the right jars.”

“I have not heard you speak of your mother before though you have mentioned your father on several occasions.”

“Really? Huh.” He ate another berry, rolling the tartness over his tongue. “I guess my father influenced me more in a lot of ways. Went into medicine like him and all that. But everyone always said I was a lot more like my mother. Dad liked peace and quiet, never raised his voice or said a harsh word to anyone. Made him a good doctor. Mama was a fierce woman. She’d fight for what she believed in tooth and nail and drag you through the mud until you would too.”

“I was not aware that stubbornness was genetic. Fascinating.”

“Yeah well. Nature versus nurture. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You take after your mother or your father?” He didn’t look up from his work, aware that the question trespassed Cat’s clear boundaries around his past.

“I would like to think my mother.” The surprising answer came, hushed and thoughtful. “But an honest assessment would find me more like my father. Reserved. Cautious. Mother was...unafraid and quite open.”

“You don’t seem afraid of anything to me.”

“I am.”

Turning, McCoy found Cat looking at him with naked longing writ large in his dark eyes though the rest of his expression stayed as still as ever.

“We’ve lived through the worst of it.” McCoy choked out. “What else is there to fear?”

“Survival is easy.” Cat stepped forward, closing the distance between them. “Living is exceedingly difficult.”

“Oh.” Tentatively, McCoy held out his hand. He watched Cat struggle with himself.

“I may...say strange things. If I touch you.”

“Like you did at the hospital? Or like how you knew Gaila was pregnant?”

“Yes.” Cat licked his lips, stained with the dark juice of the raspberries. “Ignore me if I do.”

“Sorry, can’t. I don’t think I could ever ignore you. You exist too loudly.”

With infinite care, Cat slid his hand into McCoy’s the rough calluses of their fingers catching and drawing them closer. Dark eyes fell closed, the dark lashes panting shadows on pale skin.

“You hurt.” Cat said quietly. “Deeply. All the time...how do you stand it?”

“I don’t think about it anymore.” McCoy blinked back in surprise, then shook himself out of it. Anyone could tell he carried a lot of weight, it didn't take anything special. “I can’t.”

“How heavy responsibility weighs on you.” A soft sigh gusted over McCoy’s cheek. “I will have to add to it, on a day not long from now. I apologize in advance.”

“I can handle it.” Closing his hand around Cat’s, he drew him closer.

“I will help you bare it.” Cat’s eyes opened again and he smiled that barely there smile. “You care for me.”

“Yes.”

“Good. That’s...very good.”

They leaned into each other, the kiss igniting between them, melting down the last of the barriers that separated them. Their hands remained tangled together even as they sank into the underbrush.

“You taste like metal.” McCoy laughed into Cat’s mouth. “Like licking pennies.”

“I will not ask why you have cause to know the taste of a coin.”

The ground was too unyielding to encourage nudity and Cat’s hesitancy stayed McCoy’s curiosity. Instead they played like children, tasting and touching with giddy shyness for a long glorious hour until at last a cloud passed over the sun and set them shivering.

“Damn, I thought it was earlier than that.” McCoy rolled away to look to the sky. “Must be a storm rolling in.”

“That cloud is too dark for a storm.” Cat was on his feet and pulling McCoy up with him in seconds. “Do you smell that?”

McCoy frowned, sniffing at the air catching nothing at first. Then it hit him all at once.

“Fire.”

They ran back through the park, scaling the fence in record time. Pavement pounded loudly under their feet, an unnatural quiet giving way to the roaring crackle of flames. Soon they were joined by other people, a rushing crowd fleeing in the opposite direction. Chapel flagged them down as they rounded onto the library’s long road. Her pretty face was stained with soot.

“It’s useless.” She told them, hair a bedraggled mess around her pretty face. “Pike’s bucket brigade can’t touch it and its raging outwards.”

Pike himself emerged from the smoke, ushering them grimly away.

“It’ll burn itself out eventually.” The mayor looked utterly defeated. “Most of the buildings around here were built to code and that should stop it from spreading too far.”

“How?” McCoy stared blankly at the towering inferno, even as Chapel and Cat dragged him away. “No one has a fire lit this time of year.”

“Could’ve been anything. Bad generator, blown fuse.” Pike walked grimly onward, reaching out to help someone who’d stumbled. “It was only a matter of time. Cities are meant to be lived in.”

“My equipment.” It was too much. Suddenly he could feel every ounce of the weight Cat had seen lying on his shoulders. “Your engine, Cat...that beautiful fucking engine.”

“I can make another, Leonard.” Cat said quietly. “Mr. Scott can help me.”

“My life.” He started to laugh and if it was hysterical, so what? He had a right. “My whole goddamn worthless life...was it too much to have one good day? Huh? Was it?”

Cat’s hand soothed over the back of his neck, but he didn’t want to be calmed. Rage propelled him away from soft affection and towards the inferno.

“Fuck you, God! Where are you? Show yourself, coward! If you want to kill humanity, you’ll have to try harder. Take my hands, take my eyes, take my goddamn soul, but you can’t stop me. I’ll wrest every one of them back from you! I’ll wrestle every fucking angel you got-”

Cat reached him before he reached the fire. The gentle hand cradled his neck and he fell into a deep well of sleep.

When he next woke, it was to the smell of sun dried linen sheets and the familiar sound of a farm first stirring. Rubbing a hand over his face, he tried to recall how he got there. Vague grainy memories described an endless unpleasant walk, leaning onto Cat’s strong shoulder and ranting almost feverishly. Curling into himself, he tried to calm the pounding of his head and the sick crawl of nausea through his stomach. A flash of red panicked him and he brought his fingers to his face.

They were still stained red from the raspberries. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Instead, he took ten very long deep breaths and sat up slowly. As if his rising rang some silent bell, his door opened and closed. Cat stood quietly at the food of the bed.

“Hey.” McCoy dredged up a smile. “How are you?”

“I believe that is the question I should be asking you.”

“Eh. I’ll live. Sorry for going batshit insane there.” He patted the bed and was gratified when Cat settled next to him, their thighs pressed together.

“You were not insane. Merely in the throes of grief. It is not surprising considering how long you have gone without expressing it.”

“Guess it had to be a big straw to break this camel’s back.” He hesitated, and then leaned into Cat’s shoulder, gratified when Cat’s arm pulled him in close. “I guess Jim finally got his wish. We can’t go back to the city, can we?”

“No. Most of the inhabitable spaces were thoroughly burned. Town Hall was hit directly after the library.”

“Hit?” McCoy frowned. “You mean there were separate fires...who the hell would do that?”

“There was not much time to investigate. Pike was leading the evacuation to the North Lot. It’s too soon to settled there, but no choice remained to them. As you were indisposed, Christine and I agreed it would be best to come here where we would be less of a burden.” Cat paused and then plowed on. “We were approached by the speaker for NERO.”

“NERO...” The name rang a bell, but it took him a minute. “Oh, the National Emergency Relief Organization. Didn’t they want everyone to live together or something?”

“Indeed.” Cat nearly spat. “He wished to tell us that there was already a provisional piece of land set aside in the Midwest and that several major cities had already evacuated there. He emphasized how much easier it would be if we worked together as a larger unit.”

“You think they set the fires.”

“They are the only one with motive.” Cat’s arm tightened painfully around him then relaxed self-consciously all at once. “We informed him that we would be going with Pike’s people. I did not think it necessary to tell him about the Enterprise.”

“I knew you were smart. Did you tell Jim?”

“We held a debriefing, yes.” Cat frowned. “He did not seem concerned.”

“That means he’s nervous. The more relaxed Jim looks, the harder he’s thinking. So what now?”

“I do not know. Jim said that he would speak with you, but I would suggest we remain here. Any further attempts on your part to protect the city would be futile. You are needed here.”

“Don’t worry. I know when I’m beat.”

“On the contrary, you hardly ever seem aware of the fact.” Cat gave him one of his slight smiles. “It seems to help you overcome many things with otherwise improbable odds.”

“I should get downstairs.” He made no move to leave, only sat up a little straighter. “Talk to Jim...figure out where to go from here.”

“There’s time.” Cat pressed his lips to McCoy’s forehead. “Rest.”

“What you do...does it go both ways?” He asked, aware of his own eerie calm. The thought that perhaps, just maybe, Cat had some kind of voodoo ESP or something should scare the hell out of him. Maybe even a week ago it would have, but today he was too tired to be afraid.

“What do you mean?” He could feel Cat stiffen next to him.

“You sense things when you touch people, right? You pick up feelings...thoughts. Accurately. If you’d outright told me, I wouldn't believe you, but I can see it happening to you. So does it work both ways? Could I feel what you feel?”

“Yes.” He sighed almost perceptibly. “I must have a connection with that person, but it is possible.”

“Try it with me.”

“I do not think that would be wise. You are already emotionally stressed and in the past, have shown reticence in opening yourself to others.”

“I’m feeling open today, all right? Just...please.”

“You are a strange man.”

Taking that as agreement, he reached for Cat’s hand. Something in him called for that contact, to level this strange playing field between them. Maybe it was the trauma talking.

 _Affection. Warmth. Confusion. _He felt all of it welling out of him. _Pain. Despair. Discovery. Joy. Want.___

At first nothing happened and he wanted to scream with frustration. The unfamiliar desire to be connected goaded him onward, reaching until a rumbling, unfamiliar push foreign emotions echoed back in him.

 _Confusion. Desire. Curiosity. Compassion. _Sang over his fingers, and then it twisted and deepened to a low rumble of words. Now he felt fear, terrible bottomless fear. The intimacy was too much, almost painfully close and he wanted to hide, pull away. _Leonard, affection...want... Your loss is mine.___

A thick heat and something like sand filled his mouth and then were gone, the connection broken.

“Holy shit. That's- I can't even find...fucking hell.” He spoke around his dry tongue. “How does it-”

“Don’t ask me.” Cat cut him off, eyes flashing. “I should not have...I cannot tell you one piece. It is all or nothing and I am not yet- No. Not yet.”

“I guess that includes your name.” He backed off slowly.

“Yes. But please believe that if I could, I would hear it on your lips now.”

“I believe you.” He had seen the inside of someone else’s skull and found trust there. Where fear should have been, he had only reluctant relief.

They leaned into each other, quiet and solemn until sleep took pity on them both. McCoy’s dreams were full of blazing deserts and he marched over the dunes in surgical scrubs. Hours later, he woke finally rested, but alone. He touched the warm sheets and tried to convince himself that he could wait to unravel that mystery.

When he reached the kitchen, he found a council session in full swing. The table was packed full, so he leaned against the counter next to an exhausted-looking Scotty. Jim frowned at him when he came in, offering a half-shrugging gesture that might have been support or concern, but was quickly diverted by Chekov's wild gesturing. Chapel and Cat were squeezed onto the end of one bench, both watching the proceedings quietly.

“What’s going on?” He whispered to Scotty.

“They’re debating security.” Scotty shook his head. “The fires have us all worried, but some more than others. Some want to pull in all the welcome mats and lay out landmines.”

“That’s a little extreme.”

“That’s what Jim’s arguing. Increase patrols and ask more questions of strangers, but otherwise go on like we’ve been. Far as we know, NERO has no idea we exist. Putting people on red alert without anything incoming will just add stress.”

The volume increased at the table, rising into a shouting match until Uhura slammed her hand on the table.

“We settle this as we settled everything.” She said softly in the silence that fell immediately afterward. “Put it to a vote.”

Scraps of paper were handed out and then stuffed into the little ballot box that sat on the counter. Uhura counted them out carefully.

“We’ve only got nine votes here.” She frowned. “Who’s missing?”

“Dr. McCoy.” Scotty nudged him with an elbow.

“Thanks.” He elbowed him back twice as hard. “Don’t think I’ve earned my say just yet.”

“Everyone participates.” Uhura said firmly. “If you’re here, you’re in all the way.”

“That’s right, Bones.” Jim met his eyes across the room. “You’re one of us now.”

“Am I?” He took up the scrap and wrote, before slotting it into the box. “Lucky me.”

They ate dinner in the wake of the vote, still arguing despite a clear win to Jim’s position of heightened vigilance without military action. The steady rising of voices wore on McCoy’s still fragile nerves.

“Walk with me.” Gaila said quietly, one delicate hand cupping his elbow. He set aside his empty plate and followed her out into the warm summer’s night.

“Where are we headed?”

“No where in particular. You looked like you needed a break.” She led him past the stables and out into the sweet smelling field where corn was starting to rise like a promise.

“I’m not ready to be absorbed into the collective.” He admitted, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“You make us sound like some kind of cult.” She snorted, walking down the row, stooping occasionally to pull a weed. Even gently rounded with pregnancy, she managed to make the dip an elegant one. “No one wants you to conform or believe anything. We’re just trying to survive together.”

“I know that.” He sighed. “But it’s different somehow. You’re a family or something and I’m not sure I’m ready to be a part of one yet.”

“You don’t get to choose how other people feel about you. You’ve always been a part of us, Leonard. Family doesn’t require proximity.”

“Y’all scare me.” He turned his face up to the stars, so he didn’t have to look at her as he spoke. “You keep giving me things that I can lose.”

“I know.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “But it’s better to have it, then to live in isolation.”

“Cat and I...” He started, and then trailed off. “Not sure what to make of it.”

“He’s a good man. Strange, maybe, but good.”

They walked awhile longer under the moon’s bright gaze, before turning back to the house and its waiting occupants. A messy string of music spilled out the open door and they found Chekov standing on top of the table, attempting to teach the rest of the laughing crew the words to an old Russian drinking song, accompanied by Scotty’s terrible fiddle playing.

Cat was observing all the chaos with knit eyebrows and a strange twist to the corner of his mouth. McCoy leaned next to him on one long counter, happy to have someone to gravitate towards in the crowd. He had forgotten that benefit of coupling.

“Why does Mr. Scott persist in playing an instrument of which he has no mastery?” Cat's low inquiry brushed warm over McCoy’s cheek.

“He’s the only one that knows how to even hold the damn thing.”

“Is that so?” Cat pushed away from the counter and approached Scotty, making a quick gesture. With a laugh and a nod, Scotty pushed the violin into Cat’s hands.

Cradling the instrument gently, Cat sent his fingers over the strings and pegs, tuning it with precise quick turns before picking up the bow. A low mournful note silenced the rowdy crowd and set them staring. He drew the bow up and over the strings until one melancholy note ran liquid into the next. Eyes firmly closed, Cat pulled music out of the abused instrument. When the first mournful song drew to a close, everyone applauded. Cat’s eyes sprung open, a hint of surprise lingering in the corners, but he nodded slightly in acknowledgement of the praise.

“Aye, but can you play something we can dance to?” Scotty challenged.

“That would depend entirely Mr. Scott, on how fast you can dance.”

“Try me.”

The merry jig that followed had nothing in common with the first song. It was hard to believe they had come from the same instrument. Taking up the challenge, Scotty swept up Uhura and the pair improvised a quick set of steps. The table was pushed up against the wall and soon everyone was laughing and making up words to the lightening fast call of Cat’s notes. Only McCoy remained still, frozen against the counter-top, his eyes following the rapid swelling movements of the bow and the calm face of the man that made them.

Cat caught his gaze and held it as the music spiraled through the room, pulling them altogether.


	4. Flow

The grip of her fingers on his arm would leave dark bruises. Sweat plastered her thick red hair to her skull and her eyes were wild with pain. Gaila wouldn’t allow anyone else in the room, refusing all company but his, and even that only on sufferance.

“I’m going to need help.” He’d protested, but she had only grabbed his wrist and bared her teeth.

“With you or alone, Leonard.”

Hours had passed already. Her labor had started late in the night, but now the first green-gray light of dawn crept over the floor. The contractions had sped up with the coming of the sun and her yelps of pain had given way to long slow groans that echoed through the floor boards.

“All right, sweet girl, all right.” He repeated in an endless sing-song as he wiped her forehead clean, held her hand and checked dilation. “You’re doing beautifully.”

She had long ago lost touch with English, her replies flooding out in a harsh language he couldn’t identify. The words rattled past him as he fussed over her and tried not to think about all the horror stories he’d heard about home births over the years. He wished for a cool needle loaded with an epidural, but even if he had it, he wasn’t confident about his ability to administer it.

A great contraction took her and her body writhed against the sheets obscenely, her mouth running off another foul streak of that all consonant language. It was hard to reconcile her with the laughing woman he knew her to be.

“Push, honey.” He told her, not sure if she could hear him through her pain. “I need you to push now.”

She swore, but buckled down and finally, finally, the head crowned. His world narrowed to the shining scalp. He was only vaguely aware of the sound of ripping and spared only a moment to pray it was the linens under her fingers and not flesh. With hands slick with blood and birthing fluid, he all but yanked the baby from her and was rewarded instantly with a hollering cry.

“It’s a girl, Gaila.” He lifted the baby free, deftly cutting the cord and reached for the warm towels set aside before all of this began.

“A girl...” She repeated faintly.

“Here, you can-” He froze. Blood was flowing out from her in thick clots.

 _Cat, I need some back up. Get Chapel._

 _Yes, Leonard. Do you require anything else?_

More obstetrics training than could be obtained from books, better equipment and a fleet of nurses.

 _Keep everyone calm._

For lack of a better option, he set the baby down gently on a towel before bending over Gaila to try to stop the bleeding. Chapel burst into the room, slamming the door shut behind her as if to keep back demons. Her apt hands flurried next to his, aiding his suturing and tending to the wailing infant. Gaila fell in and out of consciousness, her shattered whispers all too familiar. McCoy kept talking, ordering her not to die, yelling at her sometimes when he felt her pulse go threaded and weak.

Her skin had gone a frightening shade of white, so he couldn’t be blamed for worrying about the worst. It was only speed, skill and the quickest blood donation Chapel had ever performed that kept her alive. Uhura had nearly fainted herself after the lightening fast draining. After she rallied, she took up the baby, bringing the wailing girl down to meet the rest of the family while McCoy and Chapel kept Gaila’s body together.

Hours later, Gaila slept peacefully with the baby in a bassinet nearby and McCoy slid bonelessly to the floor. He rested his head against the wall and tried to remember how to breathe.

“You all right?” Chapel leaned down over him, pressing a hand to his forehead.

“Yeah...” He laughed shakily, looking over the serene sun-washed picture of mother and babe. “Yeah, I’m just fine.”

“It’s weird you know. We were all just sitting there waiting for news and all of a sudden Cat’s all over me, pushing me up the stairs.” She frowned. “It was like he knew.”

“Probably heard me screaming, got good ears on him.” He rubbed a hand over his face to cover the lie.

“Spooky is what it was.” She clucked her tongue, shrugging it off. “Let’s get some food, huh? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

“You go, I need to sit awhile.”

“Doc...”

“I’ll be fine. Someone should stay with her for now.”

“Fine, but I’m sending someone up to spell you soon.”

He sat in the sunlit quiet and took a succession of long deep breaths. Her blood dried and flaked off his wrist where gloves and shirt had left skin exposed. She lived though. He had fought this one and won. Tipping his head back against the wall, he grinned madly at himself.

 _Curiosity._ pinged at the edge of his awareness. The strange touch of someone else in his head, caressing around his thoughts. _You are pleased._

 _Damn right._ He thought hard, aware that compared to Cat’s deft mental touch his was like a bullhorn with its battery cutting in and out. _I won this round, darling._

 _It is not a competition, Leonard._ The scold lost some of its power to the warm flush that pet names seemed to coax from him. If it weren’t for the brush of their mind together, McCoy would never have discovered Cat’s enjoyment in such things. He had an unbeatable poker face. _You must eat._

 _Soon. I need to watch her breathe._

He got to do plenty of it. Gaila kept right on breathing as if she’d never been close to death and woke groggily the first time the baby rooted around her chest to nurse. She looked murkily down at her baby and smiled for the first time since the contractions had started.

“Oh, she’s beautiful.” She whispered, cradling the fragile head in one hand.

“You gonna give her a name?” He answered in an equal hush.

“I already have one picked out.” She let the baby latch, wincing and adjusting.

“Don’t keep me in suspense now.”

“Rhona Hope.” She smiled. “Scotty says Rhona means strength in Scottish. And I think we all need Hope now.”

“Scotty, huh?” He teased, already reaching for the notebook he had gotten ready for this very occasion.

“He wants to be the father very badly.” She sighed. “He says that even if he’s not, he would like to be called so.”

“You don’t like it?”

“It doesn’t matter, I think. Everyone here will raise her. She’ll call me mother, but everyone will love her and watch for her. Why does she need a father?”

“I don’t know.” The question troubled him though he couldn’t say why. “Won’t it get confusing for her?”

“Perhaps. But life is confusing. I don’t think it’s so terrible to understand that young. She will be very loved, Leonard. I cannot think of what I want for her more than that.”

He busied himself writing for a moment, sorting through what he thought of that, before handing her the notebook.

“What is this?” She held it, one eyebrow cocked upwards.

“When I was a kid, we recorded everything in the front page of the family Bible.” He explained. “Marriage, births, deaths. It’s a traditional way to keep track. I figured it can’t hurt for the Enterprise to have the same thing. Something traditional and helpful to pass along.”

At the top of the page, he’d printed “Enterprise Farms, Est. 2019” with the eight founding names below. On the line under he’d added: Leonard McCoy, Christine Chapel and Cat(?) joined 2022. And right below that: Rhona Hope, born to Gaila Sbarra, November 17, 2022.

“Oh.” She smiled, running her finger under the words. “It’s lovely.”

“It’s nothing.” But he grinned back at her. “Record keeping.”

“Records create history.” She chided. “Now go away and send me Uhura. I need a woman’s touch.”

“Sexist.” He laughed, rising obediently then impulsively leaned down to kiss her cheek. “For the record, I wouldn’t mind being Uncle Leonard.”

“Good.” She swatted at him. “Because I wasn’t going to give you a choice.”

That night he pinned Cat up against the door of their room, hands framing high cheekbones and kissing him with languid interest. Cat pulled away, only to guide him to the bed. They made love like molasses, sweet and slow. Afterwards, McCoy propped open the window to let the autumnal breeze cool their skin.

He studied Cat’s serene face, danced fingers over the knobs of his sweat slick spine. The totality of his lover still escaped him. He could take in pieces, the expressive eyebrows, the strong line of his shoulders and the delicate tips of his ears with their unusual soft points hidden by the fall of dark hair. The whole of him, what held him together though, that eluded him.

“Who are you?” His hands asked as they moved over smooth skin. “Tell me your secrets.” His breath demanded as he pressed a kiss to the nape of Cat’s neck.

“Not yet.” Promised a soft exhale. “Soon.”

The next day they went about their normal routines, but for the first time it was Cat’s mind that reached for his in idle moments, a phantom caress of thoughts as they worked. They were lovesick teenagers brushing their hands together under the table and it set a near permanent flush to McCoy’s face.

“You know those herbs aren’t going to pick themselves.” Jim teased him.

“I’m a doctor, not a farmer. ” He bent back down, plucking off green leaves and dense orange flowers.

“Could have fooled me.” Joining him, Jim looked over the small lush garden that even in the waning days of fall kept producing bountifully. “What’re you harvesting?”

“Witch-hazel.” The bark would have to be stripped later when winter had taken the last of the useful leaves with it. “It’s good for bruises.”

“Witch-hazel.” Jim repeated, reaching out to finger one pretty flower. “You’re like a medieval alchemist or something.”

“Just making do.” He moved down the row of short bushes. “I moved the Aloe Vera inside. How far down the list is that greenhouse on list of projects?”

“First thing we’ll do in the spring.”

“Good, got a couple of things to try when it’s done.” Raiding parties had started bringing him back unusual seeds and plants that had grown in unkempt tangles from garden stores. He threw away anything decorative, planting only the useful or edible. Many were both. Uhura had happily ceded the kitchen garden to him, preferring to divide her days between the bees and fields. Sulu helped on the days he was home, showing a profound green thumb.

“You want to help me catch one of the turkeys?”

“Why? You peckish?”

“Thanksgiving’s next week.” Jim toed idly at the ground. “Thought it’d be good to have a good dinner, something traditional.”

“You done that the last few years?”

“Nah, didn’t really have time to think about the holidays, but good year to start, right? Got a few things to say thanks about.”

The thin wail of Rhona’s cry reached them through the upper window as if to underscore Jim’s point.

“Always liked Thanksgiving.” McCoy admitted. “Hated Christmas, made everyone crazy, but Thanksgiving was a good one. My grandparents would put out a big spread and feed half the town, it felt like. My cousins would play touch football outside.”

“Mom always came home.” Jim mustered a smile, but it tugged down around the edges. “She didn’t cook, but she was always home on Thanksgiving.”

“Jimmy-”

“Well. Doesn’t matter now.” He stood abruptly, brushing the dirt from his knees. “You coming or not?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m coming.”

McCoy set the bag of witch-hazel inside. When he came back out, it was to the sight of Jim staring sightlessly out over the farm. Alone among the plants, he looked almost childlike. Swallowing against the thought, McCoy threw an arm around his shoulders companionably. Stiffening and then relaxing into the touch, it reminded him of Cat for a moment. The two of them had a lot in common when he gave it some thought: skittish, private and wounded.

“Hey, Bones.” Jim winked at him, sliding away from the friendly touch. “Let’s bag a big one.”

They didn’t catch a turkey that day. The flock of wild ones that roosted in the area must have guessed their intentions or at least, heard their rising laughter as they teased and pushed at one another. Good mood returning, McCoy opened himself up and shared his giddiness with Cat, who returned it redoubled as he hummed over his latest mechanical project.

The idea of Thanksgiving caught on quickly and the week passed in a flurry of preparations. Though only half of the Enterprise crew was actually American (something else to consider, why had immigrants survived at a slightly elevated rate? Did that mean that other countries as a whole might have a better survival rate? McCoy and Cat debated it one night in bed instead of having sex or sleeping and came to no conclusions) they all liked the idea.

The resulting feast probably bore a closer resemblance to the original pilgrim's meal then any in several hundred years. No one had managed to get a hold of a turkey, but there was chicken, venison and quail. Jim had baked several batches of cornbread, each different shades of threatening yellow, speaking to his 'creative' attempts at cooking. The last of the fresh tomatoes met their end coupled with the first smears of Uhura’s goat cheese. Dessert was fresh apple slices drenched in honey. The table was weighted down with the dishes and eager bodies pressed tightly together.

“Let’s go around the table and say what we’re thankful for.” Uhura suggested, her hair down and soft around her face for the occasion.

“Why don’t you start?” Jim grinned at her.

She glared suspiciously at him, but he looked guilelessly back at her until she nodded.

“I’m very thankful that we’re all here today.” She raised a glass. “Especially our newest member Rhona.”

“Here, here!” Scotty raised his glass. “I’m thankful for continued good health.”

They went round the table, Chekov’s outpouring stumbling into a mix of Russian and English that mingled with tears until Sulu shook him with a laugh.

“I told you not to drink so much wine.”

“I cannot help it.” Chekov smiled sheepishly and leaned on his friend’s shoulder. “It’s too sweet to sip.”

“What about you, Bones?” Jim’s grinned from the head of the table.

“Damnit, Jim.” He muttered into his glass. “Suppose I’m grateful to be home.”

Everyone applauded him and he sank further into his seat. One of Cat’s hands fluttered at the small of his back.

“I am grateful for this place.” Cat said quietly, drawing the attention away from McCoy and onto himself. “And all of its inhabitants.”

“Here’s to the Enterprise!” Jim jumped to his feet, glass aloft. “Long may we flourish!”

The feast began in earnest then, plates passing around and around, the terrible homemade wine drunk in dangerous quantities. Later, McCoy remembered none of the specifics, only a watercolor blur of laughter and talk. He was nearly sure that in the very wee hours of the morning, Cat had taken up the violin and the music bled into his dreams.

The crew moved sluggishly as a whole the next day, rising late to the angry noises of unattended animals. Only Cat who hadn’t touched a drop of wine had anything like his usual clarity. Kindly, he took over the patrol shift from Scotty who spent the morning with a mug of coffee pressed to his forehead and letting out occasional groans.

 _Leonard. Come outside, I hear something strange._ The mental touch was nearly a whisper as though Cat was afraid of being overheard.

McCoy abandoned his papers and flew down the stairs, bolting outside before questions hollered out behind him. The weak autumn sunlight filtered through the trees and cast everything in a disquieting pall. At first, he heard only the usual callings of birds. Then a subtle disturbance that grew until the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

 _Cat...get down. Hide._

“Helicopter!” He charged back into the house yelling. “There’s a damn helicopter coming.”

“You think some of the other survivors could have got one up and running?” Scotty scrambled upwards, all evidence of his hangover gone in the face of trouble. “Pike or one of the other cities.”

“Anything’s possible.” McCoy didn’t bother going out back to hit the gong that would summon everyone in hearing distance home. They would have all heard the chopper by now. “But why now? Fuel would only be harder to come by, parts starting to rust after all this time. Why wait two years?”

“Maybe they weren’t waiting. Might be some kind of ongoing organized effort.”

“FELLOW SURVIVORS!” A loudspeaker rattled the dishes. “WE ARE HERE TO HELP! WE CAN EVACUATE YOU TO A SAFE HAVEN!”

“That sounds organized.”

“THIS IS THE NATIONAL EMERGENCY SERVICES ORGANIZATION.”

“Oh hell no.” He moved up the stairs to Gaila’s room. She had been feeding the baby, but now was staring outside, Rhona starting to fuss in her arm. “Basement.”

“What if they set the building on fire?” She asked quietly. “We’d be stuck.”

“THIS IS THE CEO OF THE ENTERPRISE, JAMES T. KIRK. THANKS FOR YOUR CONCERN, BUT WE’RE FINE HERE.”

Startled, he joined Gaila at the window. Where had Jim gotten a bullhorn?

“ENTERPRISE, THIS IS FOR YOUR SAFETY. THIS AREA MUST BE EVACUATED. CASES OF THE VIRUS HAVE BEEN REPORTED TWENTY MILES NORTH OF YOUR LOCATION. THE VIRUS IS AIRBORNE. REPEAT, IT IS AIRBORNE.”

The bullhorn drooped for a moment in Jim’s hand. Then it came back up.

“WE HAVE TAKEN IN REFUGES FROM THOSE AREAS IN THE LAST FOUR DAYS. POSSIBLE INFECTION HAS ALREADY REACHED US.” Jim said slowly and McCoy cheered him silently on. “DON’T LAND.”

A few more exchanges took place before the helicopter moved reluctantly on. Jim had bought them a few days at least though the disembodied voice on the loudspeaker assured them that they would come back to check on the farm in a few days.

 _NERO will not give up._ Cat sighed almost imperceptibly. _They will return and if we are not ill, they will try to force us to migrate. The threat of the virus is a weak one. Had it returned, we would have seen evidence of it already._

 _They’re trying to scare us. Why? Why is this so important to them?_

Outside, Jim was summoning everyone back to the house.

 _They wish to control the surviving population. As the tattered remains of the government they may feel they have the right to do so. Perhaps they even see it as the morally right thing to do. Pike was correct in his original assessment. Such a gathering would tax limited resources._

Dinner that night was a grave affair, blueprints over taking plates as the crew strategized. No votes were necessary this time around. Everyone had worked too hard to make the Enterprise their home to bend to the whims of a fledgling fascist government. Or at least that was how Jim had put it and everyone nodded seriously along. Lines slashed across paper, delineating patrols, weapon caches and emergency plans. Conversation rumbled solemnly, rising and falling as fear and anger got the better of people.

 _You are troubled._ Cat caught his gaze across the table.

 _We can’t win._ McCoy looked over the plans, sick to his stomach. _There’s barely a baker’s dozen of us against who knows how many people they’ve amassed?_

 _Jim’s strength lies in faith in the impossible, yours in refusing to acknowledge when failure is inevitable. Do not let it fail you now._

 _I believe six impossible things before breakfast._ He joked weakly.

“Bones!” Jim snapped and he startled. “Can you do it?”

“Do what?”

“So glad you’re paying attention.”

“Sorry.” He wasn’t. “What do you need me to do?”

“Poisons. Can you make our supplies?”

“I’m a doctor, not a chemist.” He protested and more deeply, “And I took an oath. First do no harm.”

“You hold a gun like you mean it.” Jim challenged.

“I’ll kill a man that sets to kill me, but I’m not brewing you gallons of poison. There aren’t enough people left breathing in the world as it is.”

“Bones-”

“How effective is poison going to be on an army?” Uhura raised an eyebrow. “Or are you planning on inviting them in for coffee?”

“We’re going to fight down and dirty.” Jim growled. “If it means we get to survive, I’ll do whatever it takes. Poison the coffee, set them on fire or snap their necks myself.”

“Jim. There’s already been so much death.” McCoy sighed. “Can’t we just make it clear that we won’t step to their tune without resorting to homicide?”

“If they bring war to us, I’m returning it with war. If anyone has a problem with that, now would be the time to say so.” A familiar steel glinted in Jim’s eyes and he stared down each person at the table in turn.

No one left. All around the table everyone sat up a little straighter and breathed a little faster. Gone were the farmers, mechanics and doctor. In their place, soldiers all.


	5. Crepuscular

He’d long ago lost feeling in his fingers and could feel the numbness rising to his wrist. The rifle shook unsteadily in his hands. Every breeze, every tumbling leaf set him on edge. No attempts had been made since the first snow storm of the year had settled a white blanket on the surrounding area, but no one was taking that as a ceasefire. The increasingly violent attempts to take the Enterprise had stained all of their hands with blood.

It had all become a waiting game, staving off the inevitable. Had NERO wanted only control, they would be dead by now. Gas canisters had rained down on them, only to dispense a sleeping serum. Bullets fired at them, aimed to incapacitate. In return, they shot to kill and devised increasingly deadly traps. Scotty’s delicate mechanical pitfalls, Jim’s guerrilla tactics, Gaila’s elaborate traps that worked like magic and even Cat’s elegant logical solutions were witnessed, doubtless reported on. Yet never was the deadly force returned.

“There is only one conclusion.” Cat had told him late one night after they had crashed together with frantic desperation. “They wish to take us alive.”

“Why? What good will it do? We’ll only stir up whatever colony they’re trying to start.”

“We have shown them what we know. The skills we have.” The dullness in Cat’s eyes frightened him more than the words. “Either they see us as valuable or they wish to make examples of us.”

A deer, made bold by hunger, wandered into his line of sight. He eyed it speculatively. They could use the fresh meat to supplement the dried jerky and cornbread they lived off in the winter. The doe paused and he let the end of his gun droop. She was beautiful, poised and watchful. Anticipating danger in the silence. The kinship he felt for her was overwhelming.

Getting maudlin, old man, he thought to himself even as she ran skittishly away.

“Anything?” Someone called from the base of the tree. McCoy started, almost tumbling from his perch. “Hey! Be careful there.”

“Nothing.” He half-climbed, half-fell down the tree, his numb hands near useless claws on the bark. “It’s been quiet.”

“Good.” Sulu’s dark eyes peered out of layers of scarves and hats. “Bad enough to be cold, hate to be cold and shot at.”

“With all those layers, you might as well be in Kevlar anyway.”

They both laughed a little before McCoy clapped him on the shoulder and made a beeline for the house. Knocking snow from his boots, he swung the door open eagerly. He could hear the fire crackling in the kitchen. Shedding his coat to hang with its mates on wooden pegs, he reached out for Cat’s mind. It touched his with a tinge of _Hello, busy, later_ , before fading out again.

“Anyone home?”

The fire roared in the kitchen and to his surprise, he found Jim holding a sleeping Rhona. Dark bags had formed under his friend’s eyes over the last few weeks though he’d maintained his usual manic cheerfulness. The baby stirred slightly and Jim leaned down to kiss her forehead and mutter something quietly to her.

He stood in the doorway, not wanting to disturb the tender tableau. Jim heard him anyway and looked up guiltily.

“Gaila’s on patrol and I’d just come in, so. You want to hold her?”

“She looks happy where she is.” He clapped Jim lightly on the shoulder. “You all right?”

“Yeah, sure.” He clutched Rhona a little tighter.

“Jim.” McCoy sat down heavily next to him, ignoring the painful pricking of returning sensation. “Tell me honestly.”

“I don’t know what to do. Is that what you want to hear?” He spoke quietly, but with all the intensity he posessed. “We should have decamped as soon as they found us. Taken everything we could pack and gone somewhere else. Now with the damn snow and all the leaves off the trees, they could just pick us off from that copter. I’ve got Scotty working on an anti-aircraft missile. We should be working on manufacturing an irrigation system or studying animal husbandry so we don’t lose so many goats this year. Instead we’re laboring over ballistics. Even if we beat back NERO, that’s months of productivity lost. I’m not going to let them win, never, but I’m tired.”

“I know.” He put an arm over Jim’s shoulders and drawing him close. Rhona burbled in her sleep. “I know you are, Jimmy. It’ll be all right.”

“How do you know that? How can you even think that? Nothing’s been all right for years.”

“Because it has to be.” McCoy reached for a reason, for the supply of pure survival instinct that kept him running and found it dangerously low. “Because if there’s a God, he owes us big time and if there isn’t than the universe sure does.”

“There’s no one out there looking over us, Bones.” Jim didn’t leave the circle of his arm though or relax his grip on Rhona. “We’re alone down here.”

The front door opened and boots stampeded down the hall. Sulu appeared in the doorway eyes wild.

“Chekov took a bullet. One of the neighbors thought he was a NERO spy. I carried him most of the way back home, but he was losing a lot of blood. I thought it’d be better if I could get here faster.” The usually confident young man looked lost. “That was right, right? He’s going to be okay?”

McCoy was back on his still frozen feet in an instant.

“Take me to him.”

They ran, ignoring all common sense about lying low to avoid drawing attention. McCoy had grabbed his medical kit, but not his jacket and the icy touch on the back of his neck spurred him onwards. The red stain on the snow was visible before Chekov himself. Blond curls had tumbled free of his woolen hat. Falling to his knees, McCoy ripped the zipper of Chekov’s coat down, searching for the wound. The bullet had hit low, shattering the tenth right rib. The hole wasn’t bubbling, a good sign. It must have missed the lung. He fumbled for a clean rag in his bag.

“Hold this to the wound.” He handed it to Sulu, snapping him out of his daze. The younger man complied, his usual composure returning now that he had a task. “We’re going to have to remove the bullet.”

“Here?”

“The cold is already slowing the bleeding. There’s no easy way to transport him back to the house without jarring it further inside of him.”

Terse orders, set Sulu to hold the wound open with crudely sterilized forceps. The bullet had fragmented as McCoy had feared. It was a homemade affair, designed to splinter on impact to produce more damage. He dropped the largest pieces into the snow as he found them.

“Will he live?” Sulu asked, tears in his throat when McCoy finally set aside the bloody tools.

“He’ll need a transfusion and someone to keep a close eye on him. His chances are good”

“I’ll donate.”

“Your blood types don’t match. Uhura’s our only universal donor. Can you carry him back without jostling him too much?”

“Yes.” Sulu slid arms under his friend and bore him upward. “Least I can do.”

Jim had a bed prepared in the kitchen when they returned, insisting that the wounded should sleep closest to the fire. Set against the clean sheets, Chekov somehow looked worse than he had in the snow. The packed wound bled sluggishly and his skin was gray. Uhura returned and readily agreed to another rapid donation. This time, she did faint and he made a note to get her to eat more iron. She roused quickly, annoyed at her own weakness, before going back out to cover Chekov’s patrol shift despite McCoy’s protests.

“I’ll stay up with him.” Settling down at the foot of the cot, Sulu brooked no argument.

“Wake me if anything changes.” The words fell onto deaf ears. All of Sulu’s attention was on the rise and fall of Chekov’s chest.

His bed was empty. Reaching for Cat, he felt nothing. It wasn’t unusual. Sometimes Cat disappeared from his mind like he disappeared from sight, cleanly and without a trace of ever having been there. Still, tonight it rankled. He fell asleep annoyed.

Rough hands woke him, and disoriented he lashed out.

“Doc, c’mon get up!”

“Sulu...”

“He can’t breathe.”

“Shit.” He stumbled out of bed, already furious at himself for not staying awake.

Chekov burned. His pale cheeks were flushed and when his eyes fluttered open they were glassy. His breath came in short, despairing wheezes. McCoy peeled away the bandage. The wound was red, aggravated, small bubbles of blood popping along the ragged edges. He could picture the jagged shard of metal, missed in his frantic outdoor surgery, worming its way into the delicate lung tissue, shredding it.

“Goddamnit.” He put his stethoscope to the thin chest and heard the angry patter of a taxed heart. “Pneumothorax. Where’s Chapel?”

“Still out, I’ll get her.” Sulu was off again.

The surgery was fast, a quick cut and a tube insertion far away from any delicate organs. Chekov’s color was bad though. Once Chapel appeared, breathless from the snow they prepped and completed it within an hour. The rattling breath soothed a little.

“Let’s get some antibiotics running through him. Whatever we have, double the usual dose to compensate for decay.” He spoke quietly, but Chapel snapped to his orders as if he were barking them.

Sulu had fallen asleep on the bench of the picnic table, his soft snores underscoring Chekov’s uneasy draws of air.

 _Leonard. Where are you?_

 _Washing Chekov’s blood off my hands, where the hell are you?_

 _Learning grave news. I require your presence._

 _You must be kidding me. I need to sleep._

 _There is no time._

 _Are we being invaded?_

There was a long pause.

 _Not as such. I will meet you in our room._

 _Fine, but if you take too long, it isn’t my fault if I fall asleep._

“Are you all right doc?” Chapel looked at him suspiciously.

“Yeah...think you can set up a watch on the kid? I gotta get some sleep.”

“Can do.”

He could feel her eyes burning into this back all the way up the stairs. He should really tell her about Cat’s abilities, should have confessed them to Jim too for that matter and a long time ago. Cat’s reticence should only have spurred him onwards, not made him more secretive. Yet, he was reluctant to share something so intimate. It felt akin to telling them about the way they had sex or argued.

The bed called his name very loudly. What he wanted was to fold himself up in its embrace and sleep until kingdom come. Instead, he propped himself up with a copy of the detective novel he’d been trying to read for the last few weeks. The words slide off the page as he struggled to piece them together.

“I was not aware Chekov was injured.” Cat sat on the foot of the bed. McCoy hadn’t even heard the door. “Will he recover?”

“I don’t know. Probably.” He rubbed at his eyes. “He’s young and tough. I wish he’d waited until spring to get shot, I might have a chance in hell of manufacturing an antibiotic by then. Everything we have now is getting too old to work at maximum efficiency. What’d you make me stay up to talk about?”

Dark eyebrows rose to knit together. McCoy sat up straighter watching the subtle play of emotion on his lover’s usually unreadable face. He was...hesitant. Maybe even a little afraid.

“I find that though I have wanted very much to tell you these things for a long time that I am also reluctant. I told you once that I would lay a great burden on your shoulders.” One elegant hand reached for McCoy’s, wrapping their fingers together. “I had thought I had more time. They grow impatient. The recent encroachments of NERO make them fear the long term prospects of humankind.”

“Who, Cat? Who are they?”

“Spock.” A thrill of electricity jumped between their fingers. “My name is Spock.”

“Spock.” McCoy repeated, tasting the word in his mouth. Whatever came next, at least he would have that tiny, critical piece of him. “It suits you.”

“Yes. Better than Cat.”

“Tell me, then. What do I need to know?”

“There is so much. I find myself uncertain as to where to begin.”

“The hospital. When you came there, right before you passed out, you said that you’d found me.” He offered. It felt like a decade ago, picking the starved body off the ground. “I thought you were delirious.”

“I was not in my right mind, but hardly delirious. Mildly concussed perhaps.” Cat...Spock did not fidget, but he had a way of projecting the air of fidgeting while remaining perfectly still. “But I had been looking for you. You were the only survivor from the list.”

“What list?”

“Do you recall speaking with a woman from the Hyeck Institute? It would have been three or four years before the virus.”

“Hyeck?” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “No...wait. Yes. I’d just moved to the city, partly drunk half the time, but I remember now. She came to my apartment, not my office which I thought was strange. Very composed and sane-looking, but she was talking all sorts of nonsense about the future of the space program or something. She offered me some money if I agreed to fill out some paperwork. Got a packet from them a week later, but I don’t remember ever doing anything with it.”

“You did not, but they completed it for you anyway. You were considered the prime candidate to complete the medical team thanks to your advances with micro-neurosurgery.”

“Candidate for what?”

“The woman whom you spoke with was Amanda Greyson. She was my mother.” Spock stumbled over the last sentence, the slight hesitance of poorly healed grief.

“She seemed like a nice woman.” McCoy offered.

“Thank you. She was working on behalf of a false company, the Hyeck Institute. It was formed by a group of carefully selected citizens to introduce the concept of true alien life arriving on Earth.”

“What?” McCoy started to laugh, but the buzz of Spock’s emotions trembled over his fingers and suddenly the idea of alien life was not so implausible. “So what...we’re not alone?”

“No, Leonard. You are very much not alone.” Spock looked away. “My mother was among the first to make contact. She was deemed to be particularly sensitive and open minded. She agreed to host several of otherworlders in her home and teach them about local culture. In the intervening months, she became especially close to their leader, Sarek. They discovered that against the odds, they could produce a viable embryo.”

“You.” The pieces moved easily together. It would explain so many things that he'd tried hard not to think about. Things he blamed on cultural differences, trauma and birth defect. Well, the cultural differences were still there, just a larger gap than he’d supposed. “You're half-alien.”

“Vulcan.” Spock spoke the word with a mixture of reverence and disgust. “It was agreed that I would be raised here, primarily among humans and serve as an interpreter as I grew older. My father stayed with us and tried to teach me the Vulcan ways. Some of them I gleaned from him, others I have never captured.”

“So wait...these Vulcans have been living among us for decades?”

“Humans did not appear tolerant of outsiders. It was decided that a long term infiltration and learning period would allow for an easier acceptance.” Spock hesitated then plunged along, a crease of annoyance deepening on his brow. “They also do not perceive humans to be equal and could not come to an agreement on if it would benefit Vulcan to make humankind aware of their existence. The debate continued until it was nearly too late. They could not anticipate the virus.”

“So not that superior then.” McCoy huffed. “And what have they been doing since? Dithering in their ships?”

“Essentially.” Spock shook his head. “They were waiting to see if humankind would survive at all. They contacted me after my mother....she did not survive.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It is not necessary. Many perished. I believe I survived only due to my mixed genetics.”

“I’m sorry anyway.” McCoy reached out and drew Spock into the circle of his arms, no longer able to bare the distance. “So they contacted you.”

“Yes.” Spock settled against him though the tension in his body didn’t ease. “All members of the Hyeck Institute died, but there remained a list of candidates, those that my mother and her friends had selected. The intention of the list was to set up an instant base for those Vulcans that wished to join human society as ambassadors if they revealed themselves. It included a complete medical team.”

“Including a neurologist.” The neat envelope with the hopeful Hyeck Institute logo swam before his eyes. He’d never even opened the damn thing. “Didn’t the superior Vulcans have their own doctors?”

“None specializing in human brains. Our abilities effect on other species brains was yet unstudied.”

“The telepathy.” McCoy rubbed a finger over the soft skin of Spock’s neck. “It does effect me. Beyond the obvious.”

“You had not said.”

“I wasn’t sure. But...it’s made me docile in a way.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t put my finger on it until I reached out today and you weren’t there. The...link or whatever it is soothes me. Just thinking that should make me furious. I hate the idea of being controlled, but this...doesn’t bother me. It’s comforting.”

“It is not control. We are linked as you say. When a feeling is shared, it can be lessened.” Spock shifted against him. “I did not expect it to happen. My abilities in that area have always been weak and my father did not tell me how an intimate relationship would affect them. I believe what you feel is a mutual sensation, not the dominance of one mind over another. What we share is a mild form of a deeper, more permanent bond usually found in marriages. ”

“So we’re what...Vulcan engaged?” McCoy laughed, ignoring the edge of hysteria.

“I do not find it amusing.”

“Oh, come on. I have to laugh about this. It’s just...it’s all so goddamn ridiculous. If I don’t laugh I might lose it.” He ran his fingers through Spock’s hair. “Don’t see where you get off being offended. You did your voodoo on me without knowing if my brain would explode.”

“My mother was never harmed by the bond she shared with my father.” Spock sat up abruptly, dislodging McCoy’s hand. “I do not wish to be comforted.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He held sat back up, already missing the warm press of Spock’s body against his own. “I’ll try not to get distracted by involuntarily commitment again.”

“Leonard...”

“I’m listening. Talk.”

“As you say.” Spock’s strange, alien eyebrows winged upwards, but he went on. “The list was quite extensive. The base was intended to hold hundreds of people in many professions. When I began to look for them, I did not have a census to work with, but I assumed I would find several survivors within a few days. It was a grave miscalculation.”  
“How many did you find?”

“Only you. Two and a half years of searching and you were the only one left alive.” Spock looked away. “I had hoped to find others, to lessen the burden of the decision. I traveled when we still lived in the city, hunting down leads.”

“So that’s where you’d disappear to.”

“I met with the Council on several occasions to report my lack of progress. They were also attempting to integrate me into Vulcan society, in case it became necessary.” Spock frowned slightly. “Once we migrated here, I determined that further searches would produce no further results. I have continued to meet with them, but they are growing impatient. It has been clear for a long time that you are the only surviving member of the Hyeck Institute, no matter how far removed.”

“What are you getting at?” McCoy watched him carefully. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”

“I warned you that one day I would have to give you a great responsibility.” Spock finally made eye contact with him again and McCoy’s already twisted stomach churned. “It was always the will of the Council that the Hyeck Institute would determine if and when Vulcans would be introduced to human society. Without the further ability to vet the survivors, they have determined that it is only logical to keep this original plan. I have given them several reports on your behavior and they judge it to be most...human.”

“That doesn’t sound complimentary.”

“I doubt they intend it as such.” Spock huffed. Annoyed on his behalf? “They believe that you can make this decision. I had once thought it was logical as they insist, but now, I am not so sure. I think it is cowardly. They don't wish to bare the burden of guilt if they are incorrect. They do not wish to talk to you face to face which only supports my conclusion. No Vulcan would trust someone as tainted by other blood as I to make such an assessment of your character. They want someone else to do the hard work for them. To make the difficult decision.”

“To what...let them come to Earth now? Sure why the hell not? Apocalypse, fascist takeover and an alien invasion. Sounds right on par.”

“Leonard, you must think about this. Vulcans are not perfect, but they are technologically advanced. They will help humanity as they see fit and that could be the preservation of the species.” Spock locked his hands tightly together on his lap as if to stop himself from reaching out. “However, they view the universe in a very different way. They value order and tight control over emotion. The original plans required many years for full introduction between the two societies to prevent hostilities or any danger of one culture being over taken by another.

“With so few of you now, I do not know how that could be avoided. Considering the proven ability for successful inter-species mating, it is probable that in the best case scenario humankind would be folded into Vulcan genetics and then vanish entirely.” Spock’s fingers clenched still tighter around his knees. “In other possibilities, humanity would survive as a kind of novelty, relegated to the lower echelons of society.”

“So you want me to ask them to go away?”

“No, I have no feelings on the matter.” Spock didn’t come naturally to lying. His eyes cut away. “If you should tell them not to interfere, then humanity's outlook is still bleak. It will take many generations for technology to return to the levels that you enjoyed. In the meantime, another plague or catastrophic event may wipe everyone out entirely. Humanity’s future is highly uncertain without the aid of the Vulcans.”

“Damned if we do, damned if we don’t, is that it?” It was McCoy’s turn to look away. He fixed his gaze on the ceiling, trying to imagine the beings waiting somewhere in the vast universe for him to decide on the fate of humanity. Why him? Why now?

“You have been given a day to consider and it is requested that you consult no one directly, this is your charge above all others.” Spock broke through his thoughts. “I have been asked not to interfere further than to explain your choices.”

“Why? I thought you had no feelings on the matter.” He snapped. “What happens to you when I decide?”

“I will remain with you.” Spock look startled at the question. “There is nowhere else I could exist comfortably. You are..... beloved to me.”

“As declarations go, you picked a lousy time and place.” McCoy rubbed at his forehead. “But...yeah. Despite your secrets, you’re beloved to me too.”

“I must go. Any further discussion could only bias you.” Leaning in Spock brushed a kiss over McCoy’s lips. “You are a good and smart man, Leonard. The choice you make will be as correct as one chosen by a thousand others.”

“I doubt that.” But Spock was already gone. Too quickly this time to mistake his disappearance for anything short of advanced technology or magic.

Without any hope of rest, McCoy got back up from his bed and trudged down the stairs. He shooed Chapel away from her charge and made himself a strong cup of coffee. Sulu slept on though at some point he’d moved to Chekov’s uninjured side and curled in next to him on the cot. One hand settled over Chekov’s thin wrist as if measuring his pulse.

He watched them until it hurt too much, and then turned his attention to the chalkboard. Despite the recent upheavals, the five year plan was still scrawled across the black surface. Every inch of the board had writing on it and it overflowed now onto tacked up scraps of paper. Thoughts Jim had had when he was out patrolling and couldn’t wait to jot down. Underneath was a crop of lists, things needed, things found if anyone had a use for them. The notices of a busy life. Even his own list had its place in the whirlwind, a messy scrawl of requests for plants their descriptions and pictures captured in sparse words.

This was a life. A workable, plausible life. If NERO could be driven back, destroyed then they could stay here. The farm would stutter forward gaining momentum. Jim would work tirelessly to see that happen, driving them along their chosen path. In another life, Jim would have been someone to watch for. He had a strong head for leadership. McCoy tried to picture him anywhere other than the Enterprise. In the army maybe, though he wouldn’t do well with so much authority or sitting behind a large desk directing a company.

The others had other lives to live. Gaila building bridges, Uhura poised in a booth at the United Nations translating at rapid speeds, Scotty blowing things up in the name of progress. What a loss it was to have Uhura’s polyglot skills bent on humming to bees. Rhona’s life would hold even less choice. She would have to tend the farm without the time to gain the education her mother posessed, a slip backwards in time. Her own early pregnancy a foregone conclusion to keep the small world of the Enterprise moving forward, even if they solved the conundrum of birth control after the pills and condoms had long passed their expiration dates.

And yet, the thought of inviting in a host of judgmental brilliant aliens frightened him. Even if Spock’s dire predictions fell short, there was little doubt that humanity would rapidly become dependent on the invaders. The restoration of advanced technology would draw too many in too quickly to prevent it. The promise of a return to their studies, their potential new lives would be overwhelming. A force that would regulate NERO and give them a chance to rebuild what had broken.

137,000, Spock’s estimate for survival in United States. That was enough to repopulate. Humans could produce many children in a lifetime. They might not be absorbed into the Vulcan collective as readily as Spock expected. Assuming that enough of the Vulcans were open minded enough to try. He wished he’d quizzed Spock more and gaped less. There were too many questions, too many factors.

“All right then, Bones?” Jim dropped onto the bench beside him. “Chekov going to live?”

“Should do.”

The words were on the tip of his tongue. He needed a second opinion and Jim was the best person he could think of for the job. It was too much to put on one person and a foolish thing to demand their silence.

“I didn’t think Sulu even knew Chekov was alive.” Jim chuckled quietly.

“You never noticed?” McCoy laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding. Sulu’s always watching him like a creepy stalker. Chekov’s waiting for Chapel to look in his direction, which frankly hell might freeze over first, makes it pretty clear where his interest lies. So Sulu hangs in his orbit.”

“Huh. I never would have guessed. Maybe we need some new blood. Increase the pool before we turn into a terrible soap opera.” Jim grinned. “Of course, you’re all set. Where’s Cat, anyway?”

Already the old nickname bothered him again. He started to correct Jim then fell silent again. Jim sat hunched over, eyes still dark with fatigue. To add to Jim’s already huge burdens would be no kind of helpful. Besides, he had a feeling he knew which way Jim would vote. Independent, hot headed Jim would burn the world down before taking charity.

“Around.” He nudged at Jim. “Best get sleep while you can.”

“Yeah, okay.” Worryingly Jim got up right away and headed upstairs. “Night, Bones.”

“Night, Jim.” He replied, despite the encroaching gray light of dawn.

The sun’s ascent did little to ease his thoughts. Restless, he got up to tend the fire, throwing broken branches to the top of the log. A chill had crept into the room while he sat and he stood by the fire rubbing his hands together trying to get warm. The hiss of the flames comforted him and he watched the hypnotic dance. His earliest ancestors would have done this. Stood before the simple safety provided by fire and made their future plans. Humans had done just fine surviving without the comforts of modern society.

The sheets on the cot stirred and he kept his back turned to give Sulu a moment of privacy while he roused himself. All was quiet and then the sound of rustling fabric started again. Bewildered, he turned and managed to catch Chekov before he seized off the bed. A faint bluish tone colored the edges of his lips. Sulu was just sitting, dazed and shaken from his friend’s sudden thrashing.

“What...what’s going on?” He blinked, instinctively reaching to help McCoy press Chekov back to the bed.

“Hypoxia.” Tears of frustration prickled the back of his throat. “Oxygen deprivation. The lung collapsed further than I thought, he’s not getting enough air.”

“I know CPR!”

“He needs oxygen rich air.” He’d had an oxygen concentrator from the hospital. It had gone up in flames with the rest of his library machinery. “I don’t have any way of synthesizing it.”

“What do we do?” Sulu stared down at Chekov, then at McCoy with expectancy.

“Nothing.” He ground out, the words barely making it past his teeth. “There’s nothing I can do.”

To Sulu’s credit, he didn’t rant or rave. He held tightly to Chekov’s hand as the other man seized again, gasping for air. He didn’t look at McCoy, keeping his eyes focused on his friend’s face.

“I’m sorry.” McCoy said helplessly, to Sulu, to Chekov as his breathing stuttered and failed. To all of the lives that slipped through his fingers. “I’m so sorry.”

The last terrible exhalation left Chekov limp and grey against the sheets. Sulu collapsed then, embracing the still body with shaking shoulders. McCoy should have slipped away and left him to his grief. Instead, he stayed there, holding one cooling hand in his until crew members started to arrive for breakfast.

The rest of the morning was a blur of grief and practicalities. Sulu and Gaila worked together to wash the body clean, wrapping it in layered sheets and then a tarp with mummy tightness to deter scavengers.

The hours were lost to McCoy. He knew he’d helped in nearly every step of the process, carried rocks to build the stone cairn to house the body until the ground thawed enough for a burial and said comforting things to Scotty, who wept openly as a child. All of it remained at a distance.

Nobody ate, setting out on loose disorganized patrol groups that would doubtless spend more time grieving than watching. If NERO had struck that day, they probably could have captured all of them. McCoy walked the outer perimeter alone, avoiding booby traps and landmines. Chekov’s last gasping moments played over and over in his mind as he tried to find some new angle, something he could have done to prevent it.

The cold crept up on him, biting at his skin long after he should have headed back to the house. The sun was starting to sink into late afternoon, painting a gold path across the snow that led deeper into the woods.

He could keep walking.

Walk until the Enterprise was distant memory, walk until the tenuous connection between his and Spock’s mind snapped and nothing remained of this life. He could do something stupidly brave and work as a lone operative against NERO, gutting them from the inside out as a double agent. He could kill himself and be rid of this life entirely, all of its choices and responsibility.

He thought about it longer than he should have. If he’d had a bottle of whiskey, he might have anesthetized himself against this feeling, wound up slumped in the snow dying by increments rather than in one grand suicidal gesture. He’d used alcohol that way before and would not have resisted temptation today.

Sobriety was a merciless bitch. Feet back on the path towards the house, he tried to think of nothing at all. Spock was good at that, had shown him the quiet emptiness that could be reached with proper meditation. McCoy just didn’t have the ability. When he tried to go still, everything rushed in.

“Doc!” Chapel caught sight of him through the trees, jogging to his side and slipping her arm through his. “I was just about to go looking for you. Are you all right?”

“Fine.” He resisted the urge to shake her off. “You?”

“It never gets easy, losing a patient.” She frowned at him. “Especially a friend.”

“No.”

“Have you seen Cat? Does he know about Chekov?”

“I haven’t, but I’m sure he does. News travels fast.”

“Hey Doc.” She stopped dead and her grip on his arm forced him to stop too. “You know this isn’t your fault right? I mean you’re not going to carry this around with you forever?”

“They’re all my fault.” He looked her dead in the eye. “Someone has to carry them.”

“But there was nothing-”

“I could have been faster. I could have found that last bit of bullet. There’s always something. It doesn’t mean I’m going to wallow in it, but I can’t just forget it either.”

“Everyone dies eventually, Doc. Sooner rather than later these days. You can’t live like that.”

“Well. I’ll die sooner rather than later.” He joked. “So I guess I won’t have to.”

Her hold on his arm tightened painfully.

“You listen to me, Dr.McCoy.” She ordered with the same tight tone she’d used on countless patients. “I’ve stayed by your side all of these years for a reason. When I saw you still half-dead yourself, getting back on your feet because there was no one else left to do the job, I knew that you were the best chance I had of surviving. I knew that you would make it and that anywhere you wound up would be the better for it. I lived in that godforsaken city two years longer than anyone sane would because of you. I made the Enterprise my home because you settled here. You damn well better buck up and live and be happy or I’ve wasted a goddamn lot of my time.”

“Christine-” He started.

“Don’t go starting to get familiar with me now.” She half-laughed, half-sobbed. “Not sure my heart could take it. Don’t you go getting an inflated head about any of this either. Only just know that you’re not an island, mister. I need you and not because you're a doctor. I just need to know you're in the world and breathing.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t.” She dropped the grip on his arm and straightened up. “I’m a professional.”

“Chapel, you have no idea how much that means.” He grabbed her hand, squeezed it once and dropped it again. “I’ll keep that lecture in mind.”

“See that you do.”

They walked back to the house in silence. The confession of the depth of her affection hadn’t marred Chapel’s serene expression and McCoy was left to fumble in confusion in her wake.

Dinner was an endless toast to Chekov. There was no wine left this deep into the winter, so they made do with glasses of water. Everyone around the table stood and told a story or talked about some way the young man had affected their lives. Not much was eaten, most of the food was liberally seasoned with tears.

McCoy excused himself as soon as it was polite to return to his room. The familiar trappings seemed alien, the day long enough to render the known, unknown. Spock stood by the window framed by the moon’s cool light.

“I’ve made up my mind.” McCoy said into the darkness.

“You have time left to think and it has been a tragic day. If I asked, they might give you more time in light of the circumstances.” Spock’s expression was lost to shadow.

“No. There’s no reason to wait. I could change my mind back and forth a hundred times, but either way my choice is selfish. I’d like to think that it’s for the greater good, but I have to live in the world, don’t I? And that’s what they asked me to do. Make my choice.”

“I cannot guide you in this.” Intended neutrally, McCoy could hear the strains of regret. “What would you choose?”

He crossed the space between them, sliding his hands behind Spock’s neck to tilt his face down for a kiss.

“No matter what I choose, you said you’d stay.”

“Yes.” Spock touched his forehead to McCoy’s. “I would have no other life.”

“All right then.” Taking in an unsteady breath, McCoy told him.

Not long after, they stood upon the crest of a hill. McCoy reached for Spock’s hand and held to it tightly, their faces turned upward, bathed in otherworldly light.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Prefer not to comment here? Hop over to LJ: [ Master Post](http://dragons-muse.livejournal.com/65518.html?mode=reply#add_comment)  
> and tell me what you think.


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